


Memoriam Duris

by NorthStar



Category: Monsta X
Genre: Angst, Crime, Disabled Character, Drama, Homophobia, M/M, Mystery, mr brain au, police opera, who am I kidding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-19 09:45:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 36,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10637319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthStar/pseuds/NorthStar
Summary: Former aspiring pianist Yoo Kihyun is found in his home, bloodied, calm, and with no memories of the dead man in his kitchen.With no memories whatsoever.It looks like an obvious crime at first, but Minhyuk soon realizes that he needs help if he wants to find the true culprit - and the true motive.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS (AND SPOILERS): blood, mentions of death, trauma, panic/anxiety attacks, disabled character facing prejudice and exploitation, homophobia. Please let me know if I missed anything.
> 
> Written for two reasons, firstly: it's Easter, and back home, crime puzzles are an Easter tradition. This is my weirdass contribution to that tradition.  
> Second: I found my old harddrive with jdramas predating 2011, and I had forgotten how amazing MR BRAIN is. Rewatching it, I thought Satoh Takeru's character would be perfect for Kihyun - they have the same kind of reserved melancholy that I find truly fascinating, and I'm sure Kihyun would pull it off. He's even got some of the same charm points as Takeru. So basically yes, this plotline is adapted from episodes 4-5.
> 
> On another note, I have discovered that I absolutely, intensely, horribly hate writing crime, and I am no good at it. I also do not know anything about music, brains, or police investigations. I don't even watch Grey's Anatomy and CSI, why did I think I was equipped to write this?

"Yoo-sshi?"

 

The young man looks up at Minhyuk, quietly, and his eyes remain oddly composed, almost empty even in the face of the bloody mess around him, on his shirt, on his hands.

  
"What happened here, Yoo-shii?"

  
  
He looks away from Minhyuk and down at the piano keys, stained white in fingerprints and waves of red. He reaches out one hand to softly stroke the black keys, almost unmarred for their dark colour, but not a sound comes out.

  
  
Is he mute? In shock?

  
  
“Yoo-sshi – Kihyun-sshi, did you kill this man? Or did you at least see the perpetrator?" Minhyuk gestures at the corpse sprawled against the kitchen isle, already stiff and waxen. It's frankly a bit disturbing, this careless display and lack of responsiveness. Like he isn't entirely there - like he is crazy. Isn't apathy a sign of psychoticism? 

  
  
Is he... Mentally disabled? 

  
  
Minhyuk waits, more patiently than he would have given himself credit for, as Kihyun looks up from the keys and scans the notes, briefly - then across the room, around his feet, the little table next to him. It's almost surreal, but Minhyuk doesn't know what to say to hurry him along, or even capture his attention.

  
  
He watches as Kihyun reaches into his pocket, finding a bloodstained piece of paper and starts reading it. Honestly, Minhyuk doesn't have the time for this.

  
  
"Kihyun," he tries again, more forcefully this time, and he almost sounds angry. "Did you kill this man?"

  
  
And then Kihyun looks up from the paper, at the bloody pulp, victim - doesn't even grimace, doesn't react at all - before his unreadable eyes fall on Minhyuk.

  
  
"Probably," he says, slowly, and Minhyuk wonders if he is being mocked. The fog in Kihyun's eyes remains too thick for him to see through, but it intrigues him, makes him wonder. What is going on inside that head?

  
  
"Probably?!" Jooheon exclaims behind him, and Minhyuk, turns around to give him a look, but is blatantly ignored. "What does that mean, 'probably'?! What sort of confession is that?"

  
  
Kihyun looks almost taken aback, but his gaze remains on Minhyuk, not Jooheon. 

  
  
"Probably," he repeats.

 

 

  
  
¤¤¤

 

 

  
  
"Let me through, let me - Kihyun!" 

  
  
A young, blond man screams as he pushes his way through the crowd and ducks under the police tape. He looks decidedly distraught, much more so than the nearly catatonic man Hyunwoo and Jooheon are leading towards the car. Minhyuk sees him a second too late, and doesn't reach him in time to stop the desperate hands that come up to grab their charge's bloody shirt.

 

“Kihyun! Kihyun, are you – “  
  
"Excuse me," Minhyuk says, and puts a hand on the man’s shoulder. "This is a crime scene, and he's involved. Who are you - ?"  
  
"Crime scene?!" The man exclaims, looking at Minhyuk incredulously before moving his hands up to cradle Kihyun’s face, twisting it gently to one side and the other, as if checking for injuries, checking for acknowledgement. Unlike Minhyuk, this man actually seems to be able to command Kihyun’s attention, and he never looks away from the newcomer. "I'm his legal guardian. What has he done?"  
  
"He's the main suspect in a murder case," Hyunwoo supplies, and Minhyuk glares at him, because they have no reason to divulge this to a civilian before the situation is fully assessed. What is this nonsense about legal guardian anyway? The short man standing between Jooheon and Hyunwoo looks young, but not enough to require a ward usually reserved for parents. He tears the alleged guardian away from Kihyun, and tries to ignore the flash of insecurity behind a bloodied face. “He admitted it himself.”  
  
"Murd..." The man starts, but trails off as he shakes his head and lunges towards Kihyun again. Minhyuk is prepared this time, and holds him back, and he absentmindedly notices how strong the other man is. "No, that's impossible."  
  
"Why is that? He was at the crime scene, covered in blood. It seems pretty likely, you must admit."  
  
"No, it's..." He swallows before speaking again, and stops fighting Minhyuk, but the desperation never leaves his eyes. "Kihyun has a memory disorder. He can't even remember what he had for breakfast – there’s no way you can take that admission seriously!"

 

“Huh?” Jooheon gives the man a strange look. “Memory disorder?”

 

“That would explain a lot of things,” Hyunwoo says to Minhyuk, who nods, and looks between the two men thoughtfully.

 

If that is true…

 

“Please come down with us to the station.” He does not make it a request. “I think we need to talk to you as well, uhm…?”

 

“Shin Hoseok.”

 

 

  
  
¤¤¤

 

 

  
  
"It was three years ago, Kihyun was twenty-two years old at the time," Hoseok starts, looking down at his hands uncertainly. "We are cousins, have always been close because or families lived nearby, but after this... He was on vacation with his family, and the... There was an accident, car accident, and Kihyun was the only one to make it out alive. But there was some severe brain damage, and his ability to retain information was practically erased. He remembers things from before the accident, concepts and actions, but he can't remember anything for more than an hour at most now. When he was released from the hospital they demanded a guardian, or else they would put him in an institution, and he didn't want that. He wanted to live outside and... Well, keep living."

  
  
"And does he?"

  
  
"He composes pieces on his piano," Hoseok shrugs. "He isn't able to do any kind of work, but I contract music jobs for him, and he's able to do that still. It used to be his passion, before, but now it's all he knows."

 

“Do you live with him?”

 

“Yeah, he’s okay with that,” Hoseok nods. “As long as… Well, as long as I don’t try to restrict him too much, I guess. But he never remembers it if I do anyway, so…”

 

Minhyuk gives Jooheon a look.

 

“He uses the notepads to keep track of his days,” Hoseok explains, when the policemen don’t probe further. “He writes down dates, locations, and the briefest, most important notes – the things he would need to know in the future. He was always meticulous like that, and he’s diligent enough to make this work. Which is why we have the wall and the boxes on the bookshelves. They’re dated and sorted in an order, so that we can always go back and find anything he needs to know. It’s tedious, but effective. He even sorts his music scores that way.”

 

“And are these notes reliable?”

 

“Sorry?”

 

“Can we trust the information given on these notes?”

 

“Well… I guess?” Hoseok winces. “Kihyun writes them himself, for himself, so I don’t see why he would write anything that isn’t true. Anything he didn’t need to know.”

 

“So he uses them in his daily life as well?”

 

“Absolutely. One pad usually lasts a week, so he can keep track of his latest actions.”

 

“And what do you do, Hoseok-sshi?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“When you’re not looking after Kihyun-sshi,” Minhyuk specifies with a raised eyebrow. “You work, hang out with friends…?”

 

“Ah, right,” Hoseok smiles a little, but it’s brittle and faint. “I work part-time at a dance studio a few blocks down. Choreographing routines, teaching kids. It pays alright, actually.”

 

“So music is the big thing in your household,” Jooheon remarks, cautiously.

 

Hoseok looks at him oddly. “Yeah, why? I don’t often dance at home, Kihyun’s music style and mine are very different, but we can appreciate each other’s talents. He’s come with me to look at some performances, and I used to go to his recitals before… Before the accident.”

 

“Recitals? Was he some kind of genius?”

 

Hoseok smiles, and this one is genuine – proud. “He still is, actually. It’s strange, he used to be great at it, but even now music seems to be the only thing he can wrap his head around. Whenever we’re watching a movie or something, he loses track of the action almost within minutes, but at the end of the night, he is still able to replicate the entire soundtrack by heart. Even if he forgets everything else, just after listening to it once, he can do that.”

 

Minhyuk raises an eyebrow, but Hoseok seems unfazed. There is a glint in his eyes when he talks about Kihyun like this, happy, fond, completely different from the dejected attitude from earlier. When he talked about the accident.

 

“He was very well-known in the classical scene just a couple of years ago,” Hoseok continues, oblivious to Minhyuk’s scrutiny. “He was Lee Hyunshik’s protégé, going to be the next big thing. Until the accident, and after… Well, his name has faded a bit now… It’s kind of difficult to keep up a crowd when you can’t perform. And most pianists prefer to play their own music at showcases, but he’s got some loyal customers that take a tune or two each regularly. Have you heard of Yoo Seungwoo?”

 

“No, I haven’t,” Minhyuk sighs, a little frustrated with what seems to be a sidetrack in the conversation. “Relative?”

 

“Coincidence,” Hoseok shakes his head. “Seungwoo was Lee Hyunshik’s other protégé, and him and Kihyun used to practice together when they were kids. Seungwoo still comes over to get a few songs and say hi once in a while. He usually includes a tribute to his ‘unfortunate childhood friend’ during his concerts, but the tragic Yoo Kihyun tends to be overlooked by Seungwoo’s genius.”

 

“Okay, fine,” Minhyuk shifts his stack of papers idly, to look busy. He isn’t fooling anyone. “Let’s get back to the crime. You were out at the time? And Kihyun-sshi was alone in the house?”

 

“When I left, yes.”

 

“And when was that?”

 

“Around 10 AM, I guess,” he shrugs. “I had work. And afterwards, I went for a run before going back home.”

 

“Do you know the victim?” Minhyuk asks, carefully, and slides a photo across the table. It’s a cropped print of one of the forensics photos, but the bloodless, swollen face of the victim is easily discernible.

 

Minhyuk looks to the side to make sure Hyunwoo writes down everything. He does. Diligently.

 

“Yes,” Hoseok says, breathing in deeply. “That’s Hong Jeongsoo. Lives next door – not on the right side, the left, the right belongs to an old lady.”

 

“Do you know him personally?”

 

“Well, somewhat…” Hoseok pauses, swallows. The photo makes him uncomfortable, but Minhyuk can’t say if it’s about the grotesque scene or just the man himself. “He was never that nice, so we tried to stay clear of him. I don’t often trust new people with Kihyunnie, a lot of them don’t have the… Patience to deal with his disability. We see him sometimes, when we’re out, and he’s always being mean for no reason at all. I think he doesn’t appreciate having a – a disabled person next door.”

 

Minhyuk nods. It’s consistent with his next piece of evidence.

 

He’s glad Hoseok is being honest with them, so far.

 

“We found this in your house,” he says, procuring the sealed plastic bag containing a discrete photo of Hong over a bush or tree, as well as a brief note stapled in the corner.

 

_Bothering us. Hoseok says he is dangerous._

Hoseok doesn’t say anything to that.

 

“There is also this note.”

 

Minhyuk shoves forward another sealed plastic bag, this one containing the bloodstained piece of paper Kihyun had drawn from his pocket. The one that seems to be the nail in the coffin.

 

I killed him.

 

“Kihyun-sshi’s shirt was stained with the victim’s blood,” Minhyuk continues, carefully. “And his prints were the only ones found on the knife. Even disregarding the unreliable confession, the evidence really stacks up against Kihyun-sshi, you have to admit.”

 

Hoseok looks down, bites his lip and fiddles with the hem of his shirt.

 

That’s okay.

 

Minhyuk can be patient when he needs to.

 

“But he’s so vulnerable,” Hoseok says, eventually, and despite the silence in the room, Minhyuk barely hears him. “He’s just… He’s a confused victim already. Do you really think a boy like that could murder someone?”

 

“Well, I suppose that’s the final question we need to sort out.”

 

 

 

¤¤¤

 

 

 

“Look what I found,” Jooheon exclaims as he steps into the shared kitchenette, waving a newspaper around. Minhyuk looks up from his phone, and Hyunwoo pauses the card game with Hyungwon, their forensics officer, for a second.

 

Jooheon throws the newspaper down triumphantly, but when Minhyuk and Hyunwoo looks at the front page (Hyungwon is still preoccupied with the card game) they don’t see anything of relevance. A baseball game, some celebrity getting married, a foreign politics situation. Nothing of interest to the police.

 

Jooheon seems to realize this relatively quickly, and sorts through the newspaper to find the heading he was searching for.

 

“Look! This reporter has done part of our job for us.”

 

Minhyuk bites back a frustrated groan when he sees the article that has Jooheon in such a mood.

 

Of course it would get out this quickly.

 

He had seen the reporters at the scene, and surely, he shouldn’t have underestimated journalists’ ability to dig up information just as fast as the police.

 

_TRAGIC MUSIC PRODIGY TO TRAGIC MURDERER? YOO KIHYUN ARRESTED FOR MURDER IN QUIET SUBURBS_

It has only been 24 hours, but the article is long, full of figures and dates summarizing Kihyun’s once promising career, the accident, and vague speculations about the currently on-going investigation.

 

As well as…

 

Interviews.

 

Interviews with his neighbour, psychologists, and the famous pianist Lee Hyunshik – the teacher mentioned by Hoseok.

 

“I wouldn’t say these are unbiased character sketches or completely accurate information, but it’s less coloured than Hoseok’s testimony,” Jooheon shrugs. “Just listen to what the pianist says when they ask about what sort of person he was before the accident; ‘he was always a closed-off boy, a bit sombre, like many aspiring artists. There always seemed to be something on his mind, troubling him. Brilliant, but tormented.’”

 

“That sounds disgusting,” Minhyuk says.

 

“That sounds like the perfect profile for someone predisposed for murder,” Hyungwon remarks as he tosses down a card into the pile on the table.

 

“Right, so even third-party actors support Kihyun as the killer,” Hyunwoo notes, scratching his chin. “It all lines up perfectly, doesn’t it?”

 

“It does,” Minhyuk confirms. For a case that initially seemed to complicated and enigmatic, the solution becomes eerily simple. Literally, the only thing they are missing is Kihyun’s confession – a confession they can never get.

 

And yet…

 

“Keep both Kihyun and Hoseok in custody for now,” he says, getting up to leave. “I need… There’s something I have to check.”

 

Hyunwoo nods, and Jooheon turns to highlight important elements in the article.

 

Satisfied with his officers’ relative compliance, Minhyuk abandons the kitchen with heavy steps.

 

He dreads what he is about to do next, but for the sake of Hoseok’s pitiful query – for the sake of _justice,_ he knows it is a necessity.

 

Still.

 

It doesn’t make him look forward to the next few days.

 

 

 

¤¤¤

 

 

 

Lim Changkyun follows the case on the intranet with more than just a little interest. Yoo Kihyun, the boy without memories – no, that’s not true. The boy that cannot create new memories – the boy with the broken hippocampus, the boy with limited brain memory capacity.

 

He has seen the reports from medical, seen the confirmation that the memory disorder is real and not a convenient excuse to complicate the investigation.

 

Kihyun’s brain scans are conclusive.

 

When people learn something new, a new fact or skills or even a new face, it goes through the hippocampus first – short-time memory. That new information is later sent to the cerebral neocortex, where it is permanently saved for later use – long-term memory. It sounds simple enough, but Changkyun knows exactly how fragile that connection. The scans show that Kihyun’s hippocampus was damaged from the crash, keeping the memories from processing properly and rendering him unable to remember new things.

 

These results cannot be faked.

 

Kihyun’s memory is truly broken.

 

Can he even be charged if he doesn’t remember the murder?

 

There has to be an intent, a motive, behind the death for it to be called a murder… Right?

 

He’s a scientist, not a policeman, and he doesn’t know the exact judicial dictions behind issues like these. Is it the same as drinking and driving? Accidental murder? He doesn’t know.

 

That’s not his job, anyway.

 

His job is to be a consultant on brain patterns and psychological phenomena. Occasionally superfluous in a police department, occasionally very handy.

 

He reckons this is going to be a situation in which his expertise should be very handy.

 

After all, the case of Yoo Kihyun – it is nothing short of unique.

 

So far, it is not as puzzling as he had hoped, because all the evidence seems to point to only one criminal, that is, Yoo Kihyun himself.

 

But maybe.

 

Maybe, Changkyun thinks – _hopes_ – this case is not as simple as initially assumed.

 

And that’s where he comes in.

 

Detective Lee Minhyuk is not overly fond of Changkyun’s eccentricities and prefers to solve crimes the old-fashioned way: hard evidence, confessions, footprints at the scene and crumbling alibis – that sort of stuff.

 

But Lee Minhyuk is not a psychologist. He has a knack for understanding people, meeting them halfway, making them open up, but he does not understand the complex processes of the brain.

 

Which is why Changkyun is confident that he will, soon enough, be asked to join the investigation.

 

No one does the complexity of the brain better than him, after all.

 

In the meantime, he will wait.

 

But he doesn’t have to wait long until the man himself strolls into the research section, looking sour like a lemon and oh-so reluctant to be where he is right now.

 

Changkyun decides to be difficult and decides to pretend not to know why Lee Minhyuk has come to see him.

 

It’s fun to ruffle his feathers. Changkyun doesn’t get to ruffle a lot of feathers.

 

“Changkyun-ah,” Minhyuk starts, because they have worked together before, and all niceties have long since been abandoned in favour of a professional, mildly civil, mildly passive-aggressive working relationship. “How are you doing these days?”

 

“Good, good,” Changkyun muses, peeling a banana slowly as he glances up at Minhyuk, and he can already tell that the police officer is regretting his life choices when they lead to soliciting with a _scholar._ “Can’t really complain. Work is slow these days, banana season running low. Yourself, hyung?”

 

“Eh.” Minhyuk makes a non-committal noise and brushes his hand across the air. Taking a deep breath. Gathering his wits.

 

Changkyun is enjoying this.

 

“I trust you have been following internal affairs?” Minhyuk starts, eventually.

 

Changkyun cocks his head slightly to the side.

 

“I might have.”

 

“Then I trust you have seen the… Yoo Kihyun-case?”

 

“The amnesiac pianist?” Changkyun folds his banana peel into a neat little square and tucks it under the bowl on the middle of the table. “I saw that, yes. Nasty thing. He’s hardly older than me.”

 

He says it deliberately, because although Changkyun is young, he likes to talk like an old man – no one takes him seriously anyway, he might as well play it up. More than that, though, he knows that his career is so advanced compared to most people his age – they are still out getting their degrees, drinking in bars, trying to sort their lives out. Typical people Changkyun’s age have so much ahead of them, and should not have their potential cut short like this.

 

Changkyun often does that.

 

Implying more than he says.

 

Sometimes, he thinks Minhyuk catches on.

 

Sometimes, he thinks Minhyuk is too caught up in what he actually _can_ see, the tangible people and their contemporary lives, that he doesn’t even want to speculate about possibilities and losses. Minhyuk sees and works with everything on the surface, while Changkyun picks up the hidden, hypothetical aspects of individuals.

 

It’s why they work so well together, despite driving each other mad.

 

“Yes, that amnesiac pianist,” Minhyuk confirms, reclaiming Changkyun’s attention with a huff. “I’m in charge of the investigation, and so far… Everything points to Kihyun. But his guardian said something to me that just…”

 

He trails off, and Changkyun looks up, prompting him silently to continue.

 

Eventually, Minhyuk sighs. “He asked me if a boy like him, someone with a memory disorder – if they could really kill someone?”

 

“Of course they can,” Changkyun snorts, knowing exactly how anticlimactic it sounds. “Hyung, don’t be silly. Just because he can’t retain information, that doesn’t mean he has some unknown barrier to hurting someone.”

 

Minhyuk steps around the table to swat at his shoulder.

 

“Not like that, dummy,” he says, with only a little bite. “I’m not talking about being physically able to kill, more like… Is he able to form a motive, to maintain a sense of intention long enough? If he doesn’t remember them, how can he want to kill them?”

 

“You’re basically asking me if he is able to feel momentary anger or fright towards someone,” Changkyun says, scowling. Minhyuk hits hard when he wants to. “And the answer is yes. Under certain conditions. If it was someone before the accident showing up, someone he hated before the accident? Sure, he would remember that, and maybe it would be a trigger enough. Maybe someone he knew, or someone he just met, saying or doing something so atrocious that he felt, at the time, that he had no other choice but to murder them? Self-defence, maybe?”

 

He pauses.

 

“Or maybe he was secretly a psychopath this entire time, and he was finally given an outlet.”

 

“But there must have been some trigger?”

 

“Without having met this boy, I’d still say yes. Otherwise he would have released those urges a long time ago – when every hour is a sort of reset button for him, a behavioural abnormality like this would need a trigger, otherwise we would have seen something a long time ago.”

 

“Right, okay.” Minhyuk looks thoughtful, and Changkyun eyes him carefully.

 

“Have you found a trigger?” He asks, although he thinks he already knows the answer. He hasn’t been privy to the entire investigation, but he knows enough to form suspicions.

 

“The victim,” Minhyuk confirms. “As far as we have gathered, they knew each other, and Kihyun… Well, the victim was not nice to him, so I suppose that is a motive.”

 

“Did he tell you this?”

 

“His guardian did,” Minhyuk shrugs. “And Kihyun had a picture with him and an unfavourable note in his list of associates. Even if he wouldn’t remember what Hong did to him, he would still be able to figure out that their relationship was a negative one. And if Hong dropped by to be nasty, or whatever – I actually have no inkling as of why Hong would be in their house to begin with – then I suppose he would gain an instant motive even if he didn’t remember him. Right?”

 

“Right,” Changkyun agrees, but he doesn’t sound certain.

 

This time, Minhyuk is the one who prompts him. He sits down on the opposite side of the table, folds his hands and lifts his eyebrows, urging Changkyun to continue.

 

Finally, Changkyun licks his lips and starts his explanation. “But that’s a little bit too easy, isn’t it? If he dropped by suddenly – it was unannounced, right? – and Kihyun didn’t read up on this person, would he even know who Hong was? Would he have known that it was a person he had detested for a long time? If Hong just suddenly showed up and Kihyun didn’t know who he was, Kihyun would have no reason to be wary or dislike him, aside from perhaps an extraordinary knowledge about people. He certainly wouldn’t have a motive for murder. In that case, the only plausible scenario I can imagine is one where Hong attacked or in some other way provoked Kihyun enough to take his life. Because usually, people don’t kill other people with knives accidentally.”

 

He pauses, smiles.

 

“At least, that’s what I think. Knowing very little of the case and the people involved, of course.”

 

Minhyuk snorts. “Don’t lie, you’ve been following this. You knew I’d come to see you.”

 

“Well, first of all, I didn’t know that you were the one in charge until quite recently – “

 

“ – the case is only a day old – “

 

“ – and I wasn’t sure that there were enough curiousities to warrant my involvement, but you know. I suspected something.”

 

Minhyuk grins, exasperated and only slightly fond at the same time. “Always so humble.”

 

“Always,” Changkyun grins back.

Minhyuk clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

 

It’s almost a parody, by now – the good cop and the crazy scientist.

 

But it’s funny how life often turn out like an ironic parody – how elements line up perfectly, how it keeps returning to the punchlines, how coincidences make difference between a tragedy and a comedy.

 

Toss in some unique characters, novel situations, and there you go.

 

Changkyun sometimes wishes that his life was a little bit more normal, a little bit less like a twisted story. As a consultant for the police, he sees all the extraordinary cases, all the things that most people only read about in crime novels and fast-paced TV shows.

 

And maybe that has helped shape him.

 

Maybe that has enabled his already slightly deranged worldview, encouraged his childhood dream that people are unique and every new day brings something stunning, marvellous and intriguing – if tragic, once in a while.

 

Maybe people like Minhyuk hates the extraordinary, because they face it so seldom, because the unusual is a sign of disturbance in humanity and their usually well-defined limitations of what is acceptable and desired.

 

Maybe Changkyun overthinks things.

 

“But since you are so well-informed of this case,” Minhyuk says, snapping his fingers to get Changkyun’s attention. “Then you have probably… I mean, you have heard of the evidence, right? Everything points to Kihyun. He has no alibi, the murder weapon implicates him, his house, the victim’s blood on his shirt, and then there is the note to himself saying that he did it and this somewhat dubious motive… Even the character sketches match, somewhat.”

 

“I have heard some of this, and now I have heard the rest,” Changkyun confirms. “What about it?”

 

“It sounds perfect,” Minhyuk says, frowning. “But it… It sounds too perfect, doesn’t it? Am I crazy, or…?”

 

“Isn’t that an investigator’s wet dream? Evidence that lines up?”

 

“Come on, don’t give me that, Changkyun,” Minhyuk sighs and slaps the table. “It’s almost too much  - nothing is ever that easy, but more than that, I have this feeling that it’s just not right. It’s too obvious. You’re the one who said to listen to our intuitions, right?”

 

“I might have said that,” Changkyun shrugs. He knows he has said that. He usually says that. There is no better lying machine than human intuition, and although it is subject to heuristic biases, tricks and external influences, it is often worth an examination. It is rarely unfounded.

 

Especially, he has learned, Minhyuk’s intuition.

 

It’s good.

 

Minhyuk is good with people – on all cognitive levels.

 

If Minhyuk says it sounds too easy, Changkyun is willing to dedicate more time to this investigation.

 

“Do you have any suggestions? Anywhere we can go from here?”

 

Changkyun thinks about that – is there anything he has heard about the case so far that sounds off, or even the slightest bit weird? It’s hard to say, because he has never heard of a case like this, doesn’t know what an abnormality would look in the face of something so unprecedented anyway.

 

Maybe he shouldn’t try to find mistakes in the report so far.

 

Maybe he just needs to start anew.

 

“Can I see the crime scene?”

 

 

 

¤¤¤

 

 

 

The house Kihyun and Hoseok lives in is nestled in a comfortably quiet area of the suburbs, surrounded by a small garden and other deceptively large houses or apartment complexes. It’s not extravagant or luxurious, and is probably only worth the same as a two-room in the city centre, but as far as appearances go, it certainly doesn’t look like the scene of a brutal murder.

 

But what is life without some unpredictability, Changkyun muses as he steps past the police tape and knocks his shoes gently on the shoe mat.

 

It’s a crime scene, but it’s also someone’s home.

 

Minhyuk promised that neither him nor his colleagues had rearranged the scene, and gave him a small folder of objects removed for evidencing purposes. Mostly small things, like the knife, a photo, a handkerchief – nothing that really disturbs the impression of the crime scene in its entirety.

 

Just past the hallway is the combined living room and kitchen, where the body and Kihyun were found by the police two days prior. Apparently, the old woman next door had tried to contact Kihyun to make him stop playing the piano for a while, but couldn’t get in touch with him, and so got a police officer to help her. But what they found inside was not what they expected.

 

This piece of information makes Changkyun wince a little as he steps into the room, because the red outline where the body was found is tucked against the kitchen table, a mere six feet away from the piano occupying the centre of the room.

 

How long did Kihyun sit around, playing on his piano while the body of the victim laid crumbled right next to him?

 

He shakes the thought off and puts on his professional face, lifting his eyes to glance around the rest of the room.

 

It’s not too big – a large window facing the gardens and on the opposite side, the small kitchen. In-between, the piano, a comfortable chair, and a small arrangement of a couch and a coffee table. They look relatively unused, and Changkyun supposes it’s because both of the occupants have better things to do than sit around and contemplate life.

 

Maybe they don’t want to.

 

The final corner of the room contains the only signs that someone out of the ordinary lives in the house; stacked bookshelves with boxes, CD covers and piles of paper frame a wall covered with notes, pictures, the occasional map and even red strings connecting the pins together, linking information, Changkyun supposes. The pictures have both people and places, some of peculiar objects with brief descriptions or instructions, a couple of Kihyun and Hoseok as well, with small scribbles at the bottom.

 

“You could read Kihyun’s entire life off of this wall,” Minhyuk remarks, and Changkyun resists the urge to tut at him.

 

“Not his entire life,” he says. “An entire life – even just a _year_ would need way more space than this.”

 

“Okay, maybe a slight exaggeration,” Minhyuk concedes and rolls his eyes, stepping forward to pat one of the boxes on the bookshelf. “But with a little help from this…”

 

Changkyun follows his move and removes the lid. Inside, sorted neatly in rows with labels sticking up once in a while to indicate dates, he finds dozens of notepads. Frowning, he pulls out one, taking note of its position in the carefully maintained system.

 

Each new page has a date – some pages repeating dates, until it’s replaced by a new one, indicating the passing of days. The information on the notes are always brief, simple, but useful – ‘got groceries today’, ‘Seungwoo stayed for tea’, ‘tuned the piano’, ‘cooked rice in the freezer’, ‘Hoseok went to see Jaebum’ – the sort of thing that most people don’t think about remembering each day, mundane things that could become very important if forgotten. Not too detailed, to make them too comprehensive for Kihyun to skim through often, but not vague or dismissing enough for him to miss something relevant.

 

All stacked in the right order, in the notepad, kept safely for future use.

 

That reminds Changkyun of something weird.

 

“You said Kihyun had one of these notes in his pocket when you found him?”

 

“Yes?” Minhyuk frowns.

 

That. That is curious.

 

“Just a torn paper, right? He pulled out a loose note, one that said ‘I killed him’?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Please tell me you see why that’s weird.”

 

Minhyuk frowns, and Changkyun knows he is half-regretting his decision to bring him into the investigation already. This is why Minhyuk doesn’t like working with him.

 

“He doesn’t tear out any other notes, as far as I can tell…” Minhyuk starts, slowly, looking at Changkyun to gauge his reaction. “But at least it was written by his hand, in his notepad, right? Why does it matter if he tore it out, as long as it is surely written by him?”

 

“Look at this archive,” Changkyun sighs, patting the box and the notepads gently. “It’s all perfectly organized, well-kept and nothing out of order. Kihyun doesn’t keep loose leaves, he only uses the notepads as a record – they are kept in the right order, right date, preserved for memory. If he takes out the papers, he might lose track of when it happened, and storing them would be much more chaotic. He doesn’t have the time or energy or hell, memory capacity to do that. He needs to keep them in the pads, and sort the pads into a system, otherwise he might miss it.”

 

“Then that means – “

 

“ – if he takes something out, it is to discard it or it is done by someone else.”

 

“So you think he wanted to remove the evidence?” Jooheon asks as he strolls in, Hyungwon the forensic behind him. “Wanted to remove any implicating evidence and then he forgot half-way?”

 

“He would still be able to read the note, wouldn’t he?” Minhyuk retorts before Changkyun can say anything. “And why would he write it in the first place?”

 

Jooheon shrugs, but doesn’t look entirely convinced.

 

That’s okay though, Jooheon hasn’t followed their trail of thought so far.

 

Changkyun nods to himself before looking at the pile of papers next to the box. Music scores, all of them, with the same pretty, little scribble at the top left corner as the notes on the notepads.

 

Dates.

 

Occasionally with a title headlining the piece, but mostly just dates. The scores are all handwritten, neat and confident, and when Changkyun shifts through the stack, it doesn’t take long to realize that these are all Kihyun’s compositions, one new piece each day.

 

“He composed every day…” He mumbles to himself, but Minhyuk catches his words and turns around.

 

“Yeah, that’s what Hoseok said too,” he confirms. “He said – well, I’m sure you’ve seen the recording, but he said Kihyun composed every day, that the music was a sort of outlet for him, and the only thing he has been able to remember after the accident.”

 

“As if his memories are locked into the music?” Changkyun asks, mostly to himself. “He uses his music as a… An emotional diary?”

 

“Maybe? That sounds vaguely like a fairy tale, but – “

 

Changkyun doesn’t bother listening to the rest of Minhyuk’s argument, because he is rushing to the piano quickly enough to knock Hyungwon over as he crouches down to examine some splinters or whatever on the floor.

 

If his suspicions are right –

 

The piano remains just as Kihyun and the police left it, lid up and noteboard still erect, and on it, half-filled score sheets. Changkyun glances at the date – same day as the murder.

 

Minhyuk is hot on his heels and leans over his shoulder to look.

 

“That’s a scoresheet,” he notes dumbly.

 

“Look at this,” Changkyun says, pointing at the final line. “It looks like it’s written in a hurry – everything else Kihyun writes is superclean and neat. These lines are long, unevenly pressed into the paper and not completely conforming to the score.”

 

“They’re just notes,” Hyungwon snorts, rising from his fall and settling down in the piano chair, shoulders stiff with indignation. “Maybe a puff of inspiration.”

 

“Do, re, mi,” Changkyun reads, adjusting his intonation to match the position of the notes on the score. “Do-re-mi…”

 

Minhyuk frowns. “They’re written far away from the rest of the scores. What does that mean?”

 

“It means…” Changkyun starts, smirking slightly to himself. “That Kihyun isn’t the murderer after all.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I lost a line in the previous chapter. When Minhyuk shows Hoseok the evidence and the note Kihyun wrote, it says "I killed him". It's mentioned later in the chapter, but it's incredibly ridiculous to miss such a thing. Anyway, sorry to those of you who read the first chapter - it's fixed now, I just didn't want you to have to reread the entire chapter to find that one! Sorry!!
> 
> On that note, thanks to everyone who's left kudos and commented so far!! I am way out of my comfort zone with this genre, it's so encouraging to hear your feedback!
> 
> Also, this is not the final chapter...

They bring Kihyun out of custody and back to the house under police escort, keeping the lurking reporters at a safe distance when they arrive at the scene. Most of them have already moved on, but for the few remaining journalists, hoping for an exciting new scope or secret breakthroughs, they have to be a bit more… Persuasive.

 

Changkyun feels sorry for Kihyun.

 

They are driving in different cars, but Changkyun had seen him on the way out. He looked dazed, confused, but mostly shut off. Like he was sleepwalking, ignoring the world around him while remaining safe in his own head.

 

It must be a defence mechanism. Of course he wouldn’t be able to know what was going on – and then to have these strangers ordering him around, telling him what to do, reporters around his house and cuffs on his wrists – even without his disorder, it is no wonder that Kihyun appears a little bit distant. It almost makes Changkyun feel bad about keeping Hoseok at the police station, but it is important that they talk to Kihyun alone. Without interruptions.

 

When Hyunwoo takes him inside, Kihyun moves on autopilot, walking into the living room without prompting and settling himself on his piano chair. Changkyun, Minhyuk and Jooheon file in soon afterwards, and only then does Kihyun look up at them, acknowledging them, asking them questions with his eyes.

 

“Hello, Kihyun,” Changkyun starts, smiling. “My name is Changkyun. Lim Changkyun.”

 

“Changkyun,” Kihyun echoes, quietly. He has a deep, melodious voice. “Have we met before?”

 

“No, I’m afraid we haven’t – “ halfway through his answer, Kihyun starts shuffling through the pockets of his slacks, searching, presumably for his notepad. He doesn’t appear to have one on his person, which is odd – has he gone the last two days without a pad? No wonder he seems disoriented.

 

But that peeks Changkyun’s interest as well – he thought it was strange that Kihyun had a loose note in his pocket when the police found him, but to not have a notepad on him at all…

 

The notepads are his lifeline.

 

Kihyun writes down everything he needs to know, everything that bothers him.

 

If he didn’t have one on him –

 

What if it was stolen?

 

What if he saw someone else commit the crime, and that someone…

 

Took the notepad away, to keep themselves from being implicated?

 

When he doesn’t find a notepad, Kihyun stands up abruptly and wanders over to the kitchen. Pulls out a drawer, and picks out a new notepad and a pen. Walks back to the piano, sits down again. Glances at his watch, and writes the date at the top of the first page.

 

Then he looks back at Changkyun.

 

“I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”

 

“He really doesn’t remember?” Jooheon whispers, loudly, to Hyunwoo next to him.

 

Kihyun has a memory disorder, not bad hearing or lack of word comprehension, and judging from the glare he gives Jooheon, he is not happy about the tactless curiousity of the junior officer.

 

Changkyun decides to intervene before this gets out of hand.

 

“I’m Doctor Lim Changkyun,” he repeats, glances over at Minhyuk, who picks up at Minhyuk, who picks up the baton easily.

 

“And I’m Detective Lee Minhyuk,” he says brightly, even though Changkyun knows for a fact that this has got to be the seventh time he introduces himself to Kihyun – at least.

 

“Lim Changkyun and Lee Minhyuk,” Kihyun enunciates as he writes their names on the pad.

 

“And they are officers Son Hyunwoo and Lee Jooheon.”

 

Kihyun looks up once more, wrinkling his nose slightly, but writes their names as well.

 

Then he turns back to Changkyun, slightly hesitant.

 

“You are the suspect in a murder case, Kihyun,” Changkyun explains carefully, taking note of the frown he receives in response. “Did you know that?”

 

Kihyun looks down at his notes, as if looking for the answer – as if he forgot that he just picked it up from the drawer not even three minutes ago. His lips purse and he sighs.

 

“I didn’t know that,” he mumbles, and Changkyun isn’t sure exactly what sort of emotion the weak little sound is supposed to convey. It sounds awfully blank, stoic and almost automatic – if not for the tiny trace of fear lingering in the echo of his voice.

 

Judging from the way Minhyuk bites his lip, he has certainly picked up the finer shades of Kihyun’s feelings.

 

“We think there’s someone else, though,” Changkyun continues and moves closer to the piano. Kihyun looks up at him. “And we think you might know something about it.”

 

Kihyun snorts, and once more his eyes move down to linger on his hands instead. “I don’t. I can’t… Remember.”

 

“No… No, of course not.” Changkyun pulls out the score sheet they found earlier and points at the final notes. “Look at these three notes. It looks like you scribbled them quickly during the incident, do they mean anything to you?”

 

Kihyun frowns and studies the notes. Hums slightly under his breath.

 

Then his fingers move over the piano keys.

 

“Do – “

 

He punches the key, creating the note. It sounds loud across the tense atmosphere, a contrast to the hushed conversation, pure and clear where nothing else is.

 

“Re – “

 

The second, just as loud, just as clear, and then immediately Kihyun’s finger moves to the third.

 

“Mi.”

 

He frowns again, and runs his fingers once over the writing before returning to the keys.

 

“Do-re-mi.”

 

Punches out the sequence once more, quicker, harder.

 

“Do-re-mi. Do-re-mi.”

 

He repeats it again, again, and suddenly his gaze moves upwards to the rest of the scoresheet, starting to play out the rest of the melody. Minhyuk glances at Changkyun, questioning, but Changkyun is only focused on Kihyun’s expression as it morphs from puzzled concentration to something frantic, in tandem with the elevation of the piano’s music, until it ceases to become a melody and instead becomes something chaotic –

 

“Hey, hey, Kihyun – it’s okay!” Changkyun interrupts the morbid performance and moves forward to pull Kihyun’s hands away from the keyboard just as his shoulders start to shake and his eyes glaze over. “It’s okay, you don’t have to be scared – you’re safe. You’re okay.”

 

And when he leaves Kihyun in Minhyuk and Hyunwoo’s care, figuring them to be better equipped to slow Kihyun’s laboured breathing and ease his nervous than he could ever be, Changkyun thinks, at least something came out of this.

 

They are onto something. Given the circumstances, they couldn’t have gotten a better clue than this – Kihyun might not have remembered something explicitly, but the music from that day brought back feelings of fright, possibly anger and confusion.

 

If his suspicions are right – and they certainly seem to be supported, so far – Kihyun uses his notes as tracks of events, persons and progressions from day to day, while his musical compositions become his emotional outlet.

 

Combined – they become his diary.

 

It strengthens Changkyun’s resolve and, although he would hardly admit it, excites him.

 

Kihyun isn’t the killer.

 

Now they have to figure out who is.

 

And the answer – it should be in Kihyun’s memories after all.

 

 

  
¤¤¤

 

 

 

“This case just keeps getting more and more confusing,” Jooheon sighs and slumps back in the passenger seat on the way back to police headquarters. Kihyun is secured in the back, with Hyunwoo, behind a soundproof barrier Jooheon is very grateful for at the moment.

 

He remembers the look Kihyun had sent him during their introduction. It was embarrassing, demeaning, and, well – he has to admit, maybe he shouldn’t have made assumptions. He has never considered having a functioning memory to be a privilege, but after today, he has seen that it is both a gift and an easy way to keep his sanity.

 

Because that fit Kihyun had when they asked him to play the piano –

 

Jooheon wouldn’t call that normal.

 

“This case has never been confusing,” Minhyuk retorts next to him, sounding oddly smug and enthusiastic for someone who never sees a clue before it smacks him in the face.

 

At least according to what Jooheon has seen in his brief time as Minhyuk’s assistant-cum-pupil.

 

“It’s just been unpredictable. Follow the new developments and nothing is unclear.”

 

“Then who is the real killer, hyung?” Jooheon snorts. “Is that clear too? Because I’m not ashamed to admit, I have no idea at this point. Where do we even start?”

 

“Ah, yeah, we’re missing that development,” Minhyuk shrugs, makes a left turn and doesn’t say anything else.

 

It feels as if he is keeping something from Jooheon, and that is annoying –

 

But he can’t really call him out on it either. Minhyuk is his senior, and as much as Jooheon likes to play the cool, wildcard cop, he knows when to follow protocol.

 

And he knows he shouldn’t complain about Minhyuk, because really, he could have been stuck with so many worse officers.

 

Instead, he tries to change the topic.

 

“How did Changkyun know that Kihyun was scared?” He ponders out loud, glancing over at Minhyuk to see if he takes the bait.

 

He does, with a magnificent eyeroll.

 

“It was written plainly on his face,” he snorts. “For all of Changkyun’s ‘I-am-a-weird-scientist-that-does-not-understand-people’ shtick, he’s got good intuition. He’s not as socially awkward as he makes himself out to be – maybe he even believes it himself, but he wouldn’t have come as far as he has if he didn’t understand both people’s brains and the people themselves. It’s the combination that makes him a good asset to the police.”

 

He pauses and takes his eyes off the road to give Jooheon a stern look. Thank god they are at an intersection, waiting for their green light.

 

“Don’t tell him I said that or I’ll never be able to work with him again. He’s insufferable enough as it is.”

 

“I don’t know,” Jooheon shrugs. “He’s weird, but I kind of like him.”

 

When Minhyuk cuffs the back of his head he is quick to amend. “Doesn’t mean I’m going to rattle you out, though. Nope. You guys are mortal enemies. Heart versus brains. Sherlock versus Watson.”

 

“Don’t say that, everyone knows Watson is just the expositional audience surrogate to Sherlock’s brilliance,” Minhyuk cuffs him again.

 

“Hey, it was meant to be a compliment!”

 

Minhyuk snorts again, but doesn’t say anything to that, which is a relief. It really was meant as a compliment – Jooheon hasn’t been with Minhyuk for long, but he has already seen enough to know that Minhyuk is _good_ with people. He makes them trust him, he finds their flaws and weaknesses, the holes in their explanations, sees every single sideway glance and interprets it for what it is.

 

He’s not a detective worthy of his own TV show or novel series, but Minhyuk is an effective, affable cop that gets the job done.

 

And Jooheon has to respect him for that – has to respect Minhyuk for having enough self-insight to realize when he is out of his depths, when he needs to bring in some other resources, people with other skills than his.

 

This case is surely one – Minhyuk cannot see through Kihyun’s lies and read his personality when Kihyun doesn’t know anything about the case himself. Or at least not consciously –

 

The rest is Changkyun’s job.

 

And given the amount of evidence they let Changkyun take, _unsanctioned,_ from the crime scene – boxes of notepads, music scores, pictures from the walls – he surely hopes he will be able to help, otherwise they are going to be in deep trouble with the management.

 

 

 

¤¤¤

 

 

 

“I know it is early in the morning, you will have to forgive me,” Minhyuk drawls as he pulls Hoseok with him into the interrogation room, patting him on the shoulder like an old friend. Jooheon follows, closing the door behind him carefully. “We have a tight schedule, you see. I’m sure you have sympathy with rigid systems – here, share a coffee with me for the early hour.”

 

“Of course, Detective,” Hoseok smiles and accepts the cup gratefully. “I used to love sleeping in when I was just a kid, but it’s not really a luxury we can afford anymore.”

 

“No, I suppose not,” Minhyuk shrugs and takes a sip of his own coffee. It is bitter and warm on his tongue. “Then, Hoseok-sshi, if you wouldn’t mind... The case at hand.”

 

“Yes.” Hoseok nods gravely, and tenses, preparing – for what?

 

“You have to know, the past few days have been busy for us – we have talked to yourself, Kihyun-sshi, your neighbour, other potential witnesses… Investigated your house, examined the evidence. We’re trying to get a clear picture here, although the initial appearance seemed pretty convincing, as I’m sure you remember.”

 

“Yes,” Hoseok repeats, nods again – looks up at Minhyuk. “I still… It’s still not conceivable to me that Kihyun would do something like this. He’s harmless, really. Just a peaceful artist, you know the type.”

 

“No, I don’t, really,” Minhyuk writes something down on his notebook. It reminds him of Kihyun’s notes, which is vaguely unsettling. “I was a sports jock at school.”

 

“Right,” Hoseok licks his lips impatiently, almost disregarding Minhyuk’s answer before it comes. “When can I see him again? I hope… He must be terribly confused.”

 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait.”

 

“Right. Murder suspect.”

 

Minhyuk doesn’t say anything to that, but places a series of photos on the table in front of them. Copies of the evidence they have gathered so far – Kihyun’s notes, the knife, a bloody handkerchief and a depiction of the crime scene, including the victim and red stains on Kihyun’s piano.

 

Hoseok swallows.

 

“So I think you’ve seen all of this before,” Minhyuk starts. “But we’d like to ask you a few questions. Hold on, the table is sort of crowded…”

 

He waves Jooheon over and points at the coffee cups. “Take these away, will you? Thanks, Heonie. You’re a doll.”

 

Jooheon complies, without a word, which would be uncharacteristic – Jooheon is technically an assistant, junior officer being his tentative title while he completes his training period, but he hates being treated like a small fry. It’s a feeling Minhyuk can sympathize with, but he’s grateful that Jooheon behaves professionally enough to do this small task without complaint.

 

As soon as the door closes, Minhyuk makes a show out of leaning forward, ignoring the photos and looking Hoseok conspiratorially in the eye. The cameras and microphones are still rolling, and if Hoseok thinks twice about this, he would know it, but Minhyuk hopes to catch him unaware nonetheless.

 

And, from the way Hoseok sits back in his chair and stares at Minhyuk almost incredulously, Minhyuk thinks he succeeds.

 

“Okay, so I’m going to bounce some thoughts off of you now,” he says, eyeing Hoseok’s every move, every twitch, every breath for any indications of his true thoughts. “I have no evidence for this, and I have virtually no reason to even think it. But after talking to Kihyun-sshi – I think you’re right, he didn’t do it. I think he was framed.”

 

“Framed?” Hoseok’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline, but it’s half a second too late. “Oh. Yes. Yes, I knew it would have to be something like that.”

 

“Right.” Minhyuk hastily scribbles something in his notebook again. It’s the name of a cartoon character. “Do you have any ideas… Do you know who it could be? Anywhere I can start searching, anywhere to look for clues? I have a limited timeframe before the prosecutors charge him anyway, because frankly, there is enough evidence at hand to have him convicted. So really, we’re in a hurry here.”

 

Hoseok scratches his nose. His eyes flicker and Minhyuk can feel his feet tapping underneath the table.

 

He is wracking his brain, that’s for sure, and the nervousness is almost palatable from the air itself.

 

“Uhm… Anyone who would want to hurt Kihyunnie, or…?” He looks genuinely confused, or maybe just lost – lost for thought, action, progression.

 

Minhyuk is watching him.

 

“Anyone who would want to hurt him, sure – or just anyone that knew about his disability and wanted to use it to their advantage, anything.”

 

“Uhm…” Hoseok’s increasing discomfort would have been funny if it wasn’t in such a serious setting.

 

“What about this handkerchief?” Minhyuk points to the photo of the bloody cloth. “I think the real culprit might have used it to wipe his hands, and then his fingerprints from the knife – it was found in the trash, beneath a few napkins – don’t ask who found it, wasn’t me.”

 

Hoseok doesn’t react. Just looks at the photo blankly.

 

He is an open book.

 

“I have never seen it before.”

 

“No?” Minhyuk huffs dramatically. “You haven’t seen it in your house before? No female visitors whipping it out to dry their tears over Kihyun-sshi’s beautiful piano sonatas?”

 

Hoseok looks up at him with a weird look – a great mix between disgust and confusion.

 

But just as there is a lull in the interrogation, the door opens again.

 

Minhyuk sees Jooheon come in behind Hoseok, and judging by his grim expression, he thinks he knows what message he brings already.

 

Hoseok closes his mouth, and looks up at the new arrival stoically as Jooheon bends down to whisper into Minhyuk’s ear.

 

“The prints match.”

 

Of course they do.

 

It’s a conclusion Minhyuk expected, because he has learned to trust his instincts by now, but it’s not something he wanted to hear. A sad story has just turned into a potential tragedy.

 

“So, Hoseok-sshi…” He starts and leans forward, tapping the picture of the bloody handkerchief again. “You said you had never seen this hankie before?”

 

“No,” Hoseok shakes his head. “I don’t use handkerchiefs, and to the best of my knowledge, neither does Kihyun. I don’t know where that came from.”

 

“Then this is very unfortunate,” Minhyuk sighs dramatically. “Because the little cloth has fingerprints from exactly one person, and that person is you. We took yours just now from the cup.”

 

Hoseok frowns, purses his lips. But his gaze doesn’t waver.

 

“How did they get there?” Jooheon asks as he sits down again, folding his hands on the top of the table. “I mean, we saw you come back to the house ourselves – and that was the first time you saw Kihyun-sshi after all of this, right?"

 

“Yes.”

 

“But your colleagues at work said you left early – you said you went for a run?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“We went to see your mates, and they told us you got on the bus you take on the way home, which should have let you get home at least… Two hours before we got to the scene? Doesn’t sound like you went on a run at that time. Which not only means that you don’t have an alibi, you also lied to us and, possibly, came home to Kihyun-sshi early.”

 

Hoseok doesn’t say anything, and his face is strangely void of expressions.

 

“Kihyun-sshi would have written this in his notepad, wouldn’t he? But the notepad for that day is missing.”

 

Hoseok remains silent.

 

Minhyuk knows that Jooheon is looking at him, can almost see his semi-triumphant smirk at the corner of his eye – Jooheon is young enough to feel a rush, a particular exhilaration every time they reach a new breakthrough in a case. Jooheon loves this, the new step towards justice, solving crimes, helping innocents –

 

But this isn’t a happy resolution, and if Jooheon takes the time to think this through, Minhyuk knows he would realize it.

 

“So here is what we propose,” Minhyuk starts, clearing his throat instead of thinking about the implications of their conclusion. “You come home early, Hong is there – or at least, knocks on your door soon afterwards – and I guess things get ugly, right? I get that. Hong is a thug, we’ve checked around. And maybe they get too ugly, whoopsie-daisies, Hong gets a knife through his chest. Shit happens. But you – you have the perfect escape route. You don’t have to be charged with murder. You have Kihyun-sshi.”

 

Hoseok licks his lips again. “I didn’t know fingerprints could stain soft fabrics. And that’s a tea towel, by the way, not a handkerchief.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Minhyuk says, disinterested, but his friendly tone has vanished a long time ago. “Did you and Hong have a personal scuffle? A vendetta of some sorts… Different soccer teams, east or west coast, old mafia connections, those sort of things?”

 

“We were not on friendly terms,” Hoseok frowns.

 

“You killed him.” It’s not a question or insinuation anymore. Minhyuk is growing too frustrated to toy around with Hoseok not, and the sooner they can cut the charades, the better.

 

But Hoseok doesn’t say anything.

 

“You killed him, and were then prepared to let Kihyun-sshi suffer for your crime?”

 

Hoseok chuckles bitterly, but still – infuriatingly – doesn’t admit to anything.

 

“How could you do such a thing?” Jooheon asks in disgust, and Minhyuk almost reaches over to give him a reprimanding slap, but he’s too busy glaring daggers at Hoseok himself. “How could you do that to someone so helpless, so – someone you’re supposed to love?”

 

“You don’t know what I live with!” Hoseok snaps and knocks a fist against the table. “I do love him, or at least I did, but – do you know how difficult it is to live your own life when you have to schedule everything you do after someone who can’t even remember if he’s eaten that day? Someone who’s still stuck in his own head most of the time because he doesn’t understand what’s going on in the world around him?”

 

Hoseok huffs, crosses his arms.

 

“I’ve tried my best for him, but it won’t ever be enough,” he bites out after a second’s pause. “He’s never going to be fixed, and that’s… I haven’t felt like my own person for three years, because all I’ve done is looking after my cousins, while everyone else were out, living their lives, finding girlfriends, getting somewhere. Not me. Can you even imagine what that feels like? I was tired, and I’d borrowed some money from that brute Hong to make everything go around, because Kihyun’s pieces weren’t selling as well and I don’t have much time to work as it is… But then Hong comes around and demands the money, I didn’t mean to, but he got violent, and…”

 

“… And you killed him, didn’t you?”

 

They want the outright confession, word for word.

 

It makes everything easier in court.

 

And Hoseok glares at Minhyuk before nodding slowly. “Yeah. I did.”

 

“And Kihyun-sshi saw.”

 

“Kihyun saw.” Hoseok confirms it with something, an underlying, almost concealed bite, but Minhyuk picks up on it nonetheless. “He saw me cleaning up, and I… I got an idea. Convincing him that he did it was so easy, I barely – “

 

Hoseok stops, swallows, and his eyes, trembling, falls to the corner of the table.

 

He’s breathing heavily, Minhyuk notices, and this is more than just anger at being caught.

 

“He trusted you,” he says, and Hoseok closes his eyes with a loud sigh. “He trusted everything you told him, because what else could he do? How could you abuse that trust so easily?”

 

“Is this a criminal interrogation or an examination of my human qualities?” Hoseok sneers, but he seems almost tired already, as if the fight had gone out of him. “He wouldn’t be convicted anyway. Who could call someone like that a killer? Someone who can’t follow the hours of the day without reminders?”

 

“Yoo Kihyun-sshi would be charged, and you would be free,” Minhyuk presses. “That’s what you wanted, right? To be free.”

 

“Yeah,” Hoseok admits quietly. “I want to be free from Kihyun’s disorder. That’s… That’s everything I want.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Minhyuk stands up, gets ready to leave. They will need to prepare the case differently now, but with a confession and evidence that can easily be explained differently to fit the new suspect –

 

It’s a waterproof case now.

 

But it’s such a shame, it’s pitiful, it’s _heartbreaking_ to reach this conclusion. The ultimate betrayal. Hoseok has ruined three lives with this, his own, Hong’s and Kihyun’s.

 

If nothing else, Minhyuk thinks when he looks back at Hoseok’s slumped form, the bastard has the decency to look sorry.

 

 

 

¤¤¤  


 

 

“Do, mi, la...” Changkyun mutters to himself as he turns the scoresheet around in his hands. “Do, mi, la… Do, mi, la…”

 

He’s tried everything. Converting the notes into phonetic values, correspond them with lyrics and syllables in classical texts, reading the symbols from their position. He is sure it’s a code of some sort, but he just can’t seem to break it –

 

The door to the gym bursts open and Jooheon strolls in with a great grin stretching his face.

 

“Hey, doc, sorry to interrupt but – “

 

He freezes three steps into the hall and looks around him.

 

“What the hell…?”

 

Changkyun has occupied the gym for reasons previously unknown to anyone else, and although Jooheon now sees exactly what he is using the vast area for, he doesn’t really understand the purpose.

 

Pieces of paper are scattered across the floor, arranged in neat rows – when Jooheon looks closely, he sees that they are Kihyun’s score sheets, lined up next to each other, with a small stack of notes above each one. Occasionally, there are gaps, but Changkyun has left them open, presumably for a purpose.

 

And at the head of it all, Changkyun sits with his back against the wall, scrutinizing the last scoresheet – the one from the day of the murder.

 

“Oh, Jooheon-hyung!” Changkyun looks up at him and smiles. “You wouldn’t be musically inclined and good at codes, would you? I’ve turned this around a thousand times already, but I can’t seem to get anything out of it. Tried to look at the previous notes and scoresheets as well, and there are a number of instances that make me – “

 

“You don’t have to keep this up,” Jooheon cuts him off, his grin making its way back. “We solved the case.”

 

“… You what?”

 

“We solved the case.”

 

“Nonsense,” Changkyun wrinkles his nose. “You don’t even have all the evidence. Look here, we have all the notes, except – “

 

“We don’t need this, Changkyun,” Jooheon interrupts him, again, but thankfully Changkyun doesn’t look insulted. “We got the real criminal. It’s Hoseok – his guardian. We got his fingerprints from the handker – erhm, the tea towel, then he confessed.”

 

“Is that so?” Changkyun frowns and looks out over the sea of paper he has laid out so meticulously. “That’s…. No, I’ve seen the recordings. That can’t be right.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Hoseok is a good guy. He adores Kihyun.”

 

“Well, apparently he doesn’t after all,” Jooheon clicks his tongue. “He snapped. It all became too much for him, and when Hong came around to demand money, Hoseok offed him and figured Kihyun could take the blame.”

 

“That’s rough. But what about all of this? I am about to uncover something.”

 

“You looked like you were pretty stuck when I came in.”

 

“No, I – “ Changkyun starts, but then shakes his head. “Never mind. Are you about to release Kihyun?”

 

Jooheon nods. “Soon. Want to tag along? Minhyuk-hyung said you deserved to see this for all your hard work, even if it didn’t lead to much.”

 

And that, Changkyun thinks, is just nonsense.

 

If they hadn’t brought him in, would they have looked for another criminal? Wouldn’t they have just gone ahead and charged Kihyun?

 

It was his attention to the notes and scoresheets – the poor, poor notes and scoresheets he still wants to look into, uncover, understand – that made them even think about going after Hoseok.

 

He’s not entirely sure why Minhyuk thought Hoseok was suspicious enough to warrant an additional examination, but Minhyuk does have some observant skills.

 

Maybe Changkyun missed something.

 

But he doesn’t point out any of this – doesn’t want to get on the police’s bad side, after all of this. They might not come back for him – god forbid they leave him in the research basement with the forensics.

 

“Sure, I’ll come.”

 

 

 

¤¤¤

 

 

 

They let Hoseok see Kihyun one more time before taking him away. As wicked as his plan has turned out to be, he is _still_ Kihyun’s guardian until the trial, and the only one who knows Kihyun well enough to give him any sort of guidance or instructions before his caretaker disappears from his life – seemingly, without a trace.

 

Changkyun is already waiting with Kihyun and Hyunwoo at Hyunwoo’s office when Minhyuk brings Hoseok that afternoon. His hands aren’t shackled, and despite his physical prowess, they feel confident that Hoseok wouldn’t do anything more in here, at the police station. His crime was impulsive, not psychotic, and the risk was calculated to be minimal.

 

Still, Changkyun thinks to himself as he watches Hoseok stride forward and wrap one arm around Kihyun’s shoulder, there may have been other reasons as well.

 

“Kihyunnie,” Hoseok mumbles into Kihyun’s hair – it sounds far too vulnerable for a murderer, and far too intimate for an audience of three. However, despite their lenience regarding Hoseok’s movements, they can’t afford to leave them alone.

 

He is still a criminal, after all.

 

Kihyun slowly brings his hands up to grasp at Hoseok’s shirt as well, but his eyes are wide open and staring at a spot on the floor somewhere between Hoseok and the exit. He looks confused, scared, and with good reason, Changkyun thinks. They told him earlier that he was at a police station, that Hoseok murdered someone, that Kihyun was a suspect for a long time – but he isn’t sure how much Kihyun remembers. Or if he only remembers bits and pieces. If he even believes what was said.

 

“Hoseok…” Kihyun starts, slightly muffled by Hoseok’s shoulder, and if possible, the arms tighten around him. “What’s going on?”

 

“Did they tell you?” Hoseok asks quietly, but refuses to let go.

 

Kihyun nods against his shoulder.

 

“You’re being arrested,” he says, quietly, like everything else he does that isn’t a raging piano symphony filled with all the emotions and all the suppressed memories he doesn’t process otherwise.

 

“Yeah,” Hoseok confirms, equally quiet, and there is an odd tilt to his voice when he says it. Not angry, not exasperated, just - sad. “I’m being arrested. I killed someone.”

 

“You killed someone,” Kihyun repeats, uncertainly, and finally pushes Hoseok away, just a little bit, just enough to meet his eyes – if only Hoseok didn’t immediately look down at the floor, guilt written all over his face, clear as day.

 

So now he feels guilty. Now, when faced with the soft, brown eyes of an innocent and broken man he almost condemned despite promising to protect him, _now_ he feels guilty.

 

Facing the victim makes it all so much more difficult.

 

At least, that’s what Changkyun tells himself when he looks at the heartbroken expression Hoseok wears unmitigated, openly.

 

And he finds himself remembering his earlier conviction.

 

_Hoseok adores Kihyun._

 

“You didn’t kill someone,” Kihyun says, like a statement, not a question, but he sounds doubtful, and his head moves down to try and catch Hoseok’s eyes. “You wouldn’t kill someone.”

 

“I did, though,” Hoseok laughs over a sob, but to his credit, no tears are rolling. “I did and I framed you for it. That’s why you’ve been here as well.”

 

“You…” Kihyun shakes his head. “No, you wouldn’t do that. Why – “

 

“I did, Kihyun,” Hoseok insists, and it’s almost forceful, so much more aggressive than his usual gentle, almost overbearing assurance.

 

So much more intense –

 

But the sparkle in his eyes do not tell of anything but love.

 

Which is – almost too much, isn’t it? Even for a cousin and legal guardian?

 

“Things have changed. The last three years have been tiring, Kihyun, and I – “ Kihyun frowns, and Hoseok looks away. “Hong attacked me for the money, and I just – I’m sorry, but this was the easiest way. I could be free again, free from everything.”

 

Changkyun isn’t looking at Hoseok anymore. Not when Kihyun’s shoulders tense, his lips purse and that curious fog, the daze that Changkyun has seen before falls over his eyes again. It must be so strange for him – to hear how three years have worn Hoseok down, while it still feels like barely an hour to Kihyun himself. How he has changed from a best friend to a liability – how _far_ Hoseok has departed from the man in his outdated memories, in the span of this one conversation.

 

It’s cruel, but Changkyun almost feel grateful that the young man will forget this conversation in an hour.

 

“So you…” Hoseok takes his hands off of Kihyun, steps back, and Changkyun almost expects Kihyun to follow. He doesn’t.

 

“You better forget a friend like me.”

 

“F – “ Kihyun bites his lip before he says anything more, and much to Changkyun’s surprise, the mist  lifts from Kihyun’s eyes and he sees a barrage of emotions in that deep hazel. Sadness, fear, confusion – betrayal. He doesn’t look distant anymore, but livid as he stares at Hoseok, and there is a slight tremble in his closed fists. It’s the most animated Changkyun has seen Kihyun during their short acquaintance, and he sincerely wishes his first meeting with a Kihyun that’s fully _alive_ would have been something different than this.

 

“I can’t forget you, Hoseok,” Kihyun says, quietly still, but his voice is so much stronger, carrying real emotions and with conviction, because this is a constant in his life, the one certainty he knows for sure. “I’m going to forget why you are gone and what you did, but… I can’t forget you.”

 

Minhyuk twitches awkwardly near the entrance, and Changkyun has to agree – this feels too much like something private, something they shouldn’t be here to see. But here they are – and here they have to stay.

 

Judging by Hoseok’s tearful look, he doesn’t want to be here either, telling Kihyun all of this, but he doesn’t make to leave, like he could. Instead, he looks at Kihyun with something so akin to _longing_ that Changkyun has to frown. They really are very close.

 

“I know, and I’m sorry,” Hoseok says with a sad smile. “I… I just think you should remember better people, that’s all. Not the ones who use you and make you unhappy.”

 

Kihyun’s frown deepens, and he opens his mouth, but before he gets to say anything, Hyunwoo taps Hoseok on the shoulder meaningfully.

 

“Shin-sshi, if you would.”

 

“Wha – oh yes, of course,” Hoseok glances over at the officer with a sheepish look and turns back to Kihyun. “Do you have your notepad?”

 

Kihyun’s mouth is closed again, and his expression has returned to something schooled, unreadable, but Changkyun still sees the conflict in his eyes when he hands the pen and notepad over to Hoseok.

 

“Your bank details are under the hidden room in the third shelf besides the stove,” Hoseok lists off as he writes, almost methodically, distracting himself. “You’ll get my card as well, the officers have it, and – this is the pin, but you shouldn’t use it much, it’s not really loaded. Kwon-ahjumma next door – you remember her, right? Yeah, she will help you maintain the house and anything else you may need, you can ask her, she’s alright with it. And Yoongi moved back last year, he’ll come around once a week or so to check up on you. Maybe – make him help you with the grocery shopping, that should be alright, he’ll be fine with that. You can book a regular delivery, I think that’s relatively cheap nowadays. Uhm… Maybe he can help you work as well? He mainly does digital music, but he might have some contacts, otherwise you just keep composing and we’ll find something – I mean…”

 

Hoseok pauses as he thinks about what he’s saying. He isn’t going to be able to help Kihyun from now on, they all know this. There isn’t going to be any _I’ll fix it_ or _we’ll figure it out_ because from now on, Hoseok is leaving Kihyun.

 

It’s sad, and when he takes in Hoseok’s agonized, manic scribble, Changkyun allows himself to feel sorry for him as well.

 

He doesn’t want to point out that all of this might be useless – that after the court dissolves Hoseok’s guardianship, as they undoubtedly will, Kihyun might not be able to live in that house with the same routines after all. Hoseok did say that Kihyun didn’t have any other relatives or close friends who could accept the responsibility of caring for him every day. Unless something extraordinary happens, psychiatrists will have to examine Kihyun to assert whether or not he is fit to live on his own. Maybe they will assign him to social workers – but most likely, Kihyun’s disability is too extensive for any scheme to be enough.

 

Probably, they will put him in an institution, where he could be surveyed 24/7.

 

Changkyun doesn’t point this out, but he thinks Hoseok knows anyway. He would know, that no one else could do what he has done over the past three years.

 

It’s probably another consequence he desperately tries to ignore, judging by the fretful attention he gives to the list of daily routines he’s been trying to compose.

 

However, in the few seconds it takes Hoseok to regain a semblance of posture, Kihyun reaches out and takes the notepad back wordlessly. All eyes in the room are on him, but he ignores them and starts writing something down on a new page.

 

Changkyun can see the blunt writing from his position, and the words make him bite his lip.

 

_Hoseok killed someone. He’s gone._

It’s Kihyun’s way of writing things.

 

Simple, efficient, stripped down to the bare essentials of details.

 

Kihyun probably doesn’t want to remember the details in this case.

 

“Well then,” Hoseok smiles, shakily, and Changkyun knows he must have seen the note as well. “I guess – I’ll have to leave now.”

 

Kihyun doesn’t say anything to that, but he nods, and then Hyunwoo is there again, taking Hoseok by the arm and leading him out the door.

 

Hoseok looks back, once, twice, but Kihyun doesn’t even move. Just looks at his back, frowning, nose wrinkled. It’s an expression of some sort, and not a happy one, but Changkyun doesn’t know exactly what to call it.

 

The whole scene has been devastating, and Changkyun almost regrets coming along after all.

 

“Hey,” Minhyuk says, demanding Kihyun and Changkyun’s attention once Hoseok is out of sight. “I know it’s rough, but let’s get you home, okay Kihyun-sshi?”

 

Kihyun glances over at him briefly, but his eyes quickly fall to the floor. Then he nods, almost imperceptibly. “Yeah. Thanks, officer…?”

 

“Detective Lee.”

 

“Thank you, detective Lee.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about Changkyun.

Minhyuk finds Changkyun in the gym again later that night, thanks to Jooheon’s tip.

 

He had taken Kihyun home and spoken to his neighbour – the one that _didn’t_ get brutally murdered – and informed her about the situation, asked her to assist Kihyun for the next few days until public services got in touch and sorted everything out. She had been very helpful, and very sad about the awful fate of the two young men, promising to do whatever she can to help.

 

It sounds all well and dandy, and while Minhyuk had been convinced earlier, he is second-guessing the solution to the case already.

 

He both does and does not want to doubt the conclusion – on the one hand, it fits and they don’t have to charge Kihyun after all. Don’t have to kick a wounded puppy, so to speak. Admittedly, a very loofy and distant puppy that could be held accountable for his actions at any given time despite his disability, but a puppy nonetheless.

 

On the other hand, Hoseok –

 

It’s atrocious to do something like that to someone under your care, someone so helpless and trustful. If Hoseok is really capable of doing such a thing, Minhyuk will be happy to charge him and see him rot in prison.

 

But that’s the thing, though.

 

If.

 

If - _if_ Hoseok is capable of doing such a thing.

 

And Minhyuk isn’t really so sure that he is.

 

Changkyun might be able to help him.

 

Just like Jooheon had said, the researcher has taken the liberty to turn the gym into some sort of weird archive or information board – Kihyun’s music scores are lined up in neat rows across the floor, hundreds of them, with only the occasional, and evidently deliberate gap. Each scoresheet is matched by a stack of smaller notes, the same as Kihyun uses from his notepads.

 

Changkyun is tiptoeing between the papers when Minhyuk comes in, and he looks up, surprise plainly visible on his face. “Minhyuk?”

 

Minhyuk lifts a banana – a strange peace offering, something between a running joke and a secret code for the two of them.

 

“Care for a chat?”

 

Changkyun nods, looks down at the floor again, and tries to navigate his way towards the walls without messing up the order of the papers. He looks a little bit like a video game character, the way he jumps, stops, and occasionally lets out a weird sound when he finds himself in a pitch. But somehow he manages, and makes his way over to the bench Minhyuk has perched himself on while waiting.

 

“Banana first.”

 

Minhyuk acquiesces easily, handing over the banana while taking a sip of his coffee. Toffee nut latte with extra syrup, should be out of season, but Jooheon knows a guy.

 

“So congrats,” Changkyun starts as he peels the banana carefully, making sure to get all the small strands down before taking a bite. “You must be a big name in the department now that you got the true criminal in such a complicated case.”

 

“Yeah…” Minhyuk agrees, half-heartedly, takes another sip. “Hoseok – apparently he went home early that day, but when Hong saw him arrive, he followed him inside to complain about the money Hoseok and Kihyun owed him. They had a fight, resulting in Hoseok grabbing a knife from the kitchen and stabbing Hong to death. And then Kihyun, at last, steps forward and asks Hoseok, ‘who is this?’ and Hoseok, terrified and just realizing the consequences of what he has done, gets an idea. Convinces Kihyun that he did it, and Kihyun trusts him blindly, of course, so he writes it down, Hoseok leaves again until we show up, and…”

 

He sighs and drags a hand through his hair.

 

“Whatever way you look at this, Hoseok seems to be the true killer.”

 

He’s gone through the details many times, with himself, Hoseok, Jooheon – but there is still something he cannot quite put his finger on.

 

Maybe it’s nothing more than that word again – intuiton.

 

Changkyun picks up his distress easily. “You’re not convinced of your own conclusion?”

 

“Well, you tell me,” Minhyuk says, grimly. “Doesn’t this sound… Too simple? Or, not simple, it’s not the first thing that comes to mind when you read the initial report, but it’s the same as the first time – everything lines up too neatly, but I still feel like I’m missing pieces. I could believe this if I felt like it was the entire picture, but there are small details that makes me think… There is something more going on behind the scenes.”

 

He looks up, fixating on a spot in the ceiling. It’s uneven and gross.

 

“There are some things like.. The handkerchief – “

 

“It’s a tea towel.”

 

“ – that he just dropped in the trash, so carelessly? What sort of murderer does that?”

 

“Nothing you’ve just told me sounds like real proof,” Changkyun points out, frowning. “What is it that makes you stop and think so much? What makes you doubt your current charge?”

 

Minhyuk bites his lip. The answer is easy on his tongue, but saying it sounds… Unprofessional.

 

Then again, Changkyun is far from the posterboy for professional.

 

“Intuition. Not much more.”

 

He half expects a witty remark, some mocking words and lectures about how intuition is not tangible, objective, and whatever else scientific crap Changkyun usually spews about.

 

But instead, Changkyun smiles.

 

“I’m not going to tell you how to do your job,” he shrugs, turning the banana around to examine a brown spot on the other side. “But I trust your intuition, Detective Lee Minhyuk, and therefore I will support your endeavours. This… There is a reason why I haven’t put these papers down yet, you know. They might still be relevant, we just don’t know how. And the notepad? The final music sheet with the three notes? That doesn’t add up.”

 

Minhyuk looks up at this, intrigued, and tries to urge Changkyun to go on. He doesn’t indulge these ramblings often, they have a tendency to become too technical or too fantastical or both, but in this case, he is grasping at anything that doesn’t make it sound like he is biased.

 

“First of all, why would Hoseok make him tear off the single note and remove the rest of the notepad?” Changkyun starts, slowly, looking almost to be making this up as he goes along. Maybe it is the first time he articulates all his musings, even to himself – Minhyuk imagines that Changkyun’s head must be a chaotic place. “There was no reason for him to do that – he would be mentioned in the pad already. And of course, that’s only natural, they’re cousins, they live together – and from the looks of it, they’re very close. Nothing in that notepad should give any indications that Hoseok is the killer, because Kihyun wouldn’t even think that thought before he walked in on the scene.”

 

He pauses.

 

“Same with the scoresheet. If he believed Hoseok immediately, he wouldn’t try to code anything in his music. It just becomes something weird, and I hate illogical, weird things. Kihyun seems to be the same. Everything he does is so organized and proper, I can’t see him writing whims or doodling like that. It has to mean _something._ ”

 

Minhyuk nods, and looks out across the massive paperwork Changkyun has dived into.

 

“And this?”

 

“Ah, this.” Changkyun gets up and points to one of the piles of paper. “You remember the idea that Kihyun’s notes and scores combined becomes his diary?”

 

“Yes…” Minhyuk frowns. He remembers the theory, and he remembers Kihyun’s panicked expression when he played the music from that fateful day. How Kihyun seemed to _remember_ – even if such a thing should be impossible.

 

But that doesn’t mean – surely this can’t be a consistent trend for _three whole years._ It was probably just because that day in particular had such a dramatic and traumatizing effect. It shouldn’t be a reliable pattern, that sounds too far-fetched.

 

Changkyun doesn’t pay any heed to his hesitation.

 

“So I sorted them all, put them out like this,” he gestures towards the floor. “See, this is the scoresheets from the 3rd of January, 2010. And these are the notes from that date as well. And this one is from the 4th of January 2010, and so on. Every day since Kihyun came back home after the accident and up until the date of the murder, the final date fully recorded is the day before, 8th April 2013. But there are some scoresheets missing, some days without new compositions. I have read through the notes for these days, and there is nothing unusual to indicate that Kihyun wouldn’t make music that day.”

 

“Maybe he just wasn’t inspired,” Minhyuk suggests, shrugging. “Or didn’t have any paper.”

 

Changkyun snorts.

 

“Have you seen his storage facilities?” He retorts. “I’ve seen stationary shops with fewer pens and notepads. That guy would never risk running out of anything, even without a functioning memory. And Hoseok would probably help him as well – he was particularly supportive of Kihyun’s music.”

 

“Fine, he didn’t feel like writing? It can’t be that weird?”

 

“Did you not pay any attention to what I’ve been saying?” Changkyun snaps, and Minhyuk barely refrains from reminding the brat of his place. But Changkyun seems to be on a roll, so he lets him. “Kihyun’s ability to retain information is broken, so he uses his notes to keep track of his life for him. But his emotions are controlled by different neural processes, and they are not broken. His moods and feelings can outlast his memories, and that must be terribly confusing. Imagine feeling angry or sad, and not being able to remember why? Imagine being left with only an emotion, and no way of knowing what that stems from, what it means? The notes are brief, detached and objective, and oftentimes, feelings are triggered by relatively unremarkable events. So Kihyun would need a way to process his emotions as well – the music. He wrote all day, everyday, because that was all he could do. No, if there was any reason for him not to compose, he would note it down.”

 

“Maybe those are the ones he sold? Or maybe he lost them?”

 

“Hoseok made photocopies of the pieces he sold.”

 

“Then, okay, this is weird,” Minhyuk concedes, although he isn’t entirely convinced. “Add it to the list of things that still seems weird.”

 

“Oh, but I’m not done,” Changkyun smirks and tip-toes down the rows until he stops at a specific date. It’s far enough away that Minhyuk doesn’t immediately catch on. “Look at this. We’re missing some scores, but at least we have all the notes for every single day from Kihyun’s accident and until now. Except… This one. 17th of May 2010. Here we have a scoresheet but no notes. No notes, no notepad… Now where have we heard this before?”

 

It piques Minhyuk’s interest, his curiousity, if only a little bit – but that was two years ago. How can that be relevant to this case?

 

“That’s weird,” he agrees. “But isn’t it too old?”

 

“Not if this is the culmination of something big,” Changkyun shrugs. “Can’t say exactly what, but maybe this murder has been in the works for a long time.”

 

“Right.”

 

Minhyuk tries to process this new information.

 

Changkyun still thinks that there is something weird with the case, supporting his vague hope that it’s more than just his gut feeling. But Changkyun hasn’t exactly given him anything new to go on either – just more suspicions and ill-fitting pieces. He knew Changkyun wasn’t happy with the new charge, but he had hoped that dissatisfaction had been founded in something more than just a need to uncover the secrets of any new, interesting individual he came across.

 

Maybe he just needs to accept that Hoseok is the criminal, after all.

 

Maybe he just needs to accept that humans can be that cruel.

 

“Well, thank you for your time, Changkyun,” he says and stands up.

 

Changkyun glances over him, frowning. “Leaving so soon?”

 

“I’ve got stuff to do,” Minhyuk sighs, dramatically, and shrugs a little on his way out. “Important stuff. Inspector stuff. I’ve actually got places to go, things to do, people to see, what have you. Thanks for your help so far, though.”

 

“You’re not convinced,” Changkyun pouts and crouches down to poke at the papers. “I thought you were ready to fight for this.”

 

“I fight for justice, Changkyun,” Minhyuk assures him, assures himself as he tears the door open and practically runs through before Changkyun can say anything else. “Always.”

 

He repeats the promise to himself as he walks back up to his office, still feeling the clenching, discomforting rock at the bottom of his stomach.

 

 

 

¤¤¤

 

 

  
Changkyun is nothing if not resilient.

 

He told Minhyuk he wouldn’t interfere with his job, but at the same time, he really only said it because he thought it would help push Minhyuk over to his side. Reverse psychology. Basic, of course, and he should have known that Minhyuk would be better than that. Minhyuk isn’t affected by cognitive tricks that easily.

 

A shame. Because it makes his job so much harder.

 

But Minhyuk can be persuaded.

 

He looks down at the text he just received from a colleague at the hospital. He wishes he could have voiced his triumphant new discovery to Minhyuk earlier, but alas, it came too late.

 

Changkyun will settle for the second best option.

 

“Did you know that Hoseok and Kihyun are not actually cousins?” He throws out over a cup of tea in the lounge. Jooheon looks up at him with a frown.

 

“What?” He asks before shaking his head. “No, okay, that’s odd, but that case is closed. Why are you hung up on that?”

 

“Okay, A: the case isn’t closed, we’re just done with the investigation. Come on hyung, you’re the policeman-in-training, you should know this.”

 

Jooheon dignifies it with an eyeroll, much to his own chagrin.

 

“And B: I am hung up on that because it just adds to the many little things that just seem off about this conclusion. Minhyuk-hyung agrees, even if he won’t state it on the official records. Isn’t it too easy? Doesn’t it bother you that Hoseok could do this to someone he obviously cared so much about?” He shakes his head. “I’ve seen toddlers act better than that guy. He speaks about Kihyun as if he’s the sun, the disorder is the only thing he ever criticizes. And he’s… That level of affection… I mean, you were there in Hyunwoo-hyung’s office. Did that seem like someone who just wanted to rid himself of Kihyun?”

 

“Well… No, but he never said he hated him – “

 

“No, no, but I mean, Hoseok was practically crying in there. It’s painfully obvious that he cares so much about Kihyun, it just – “

 

“Where are you going with this?” Jooheon throws a banana at him because it happened to be on the middle of the table, dumped there in courtesy of their seventh favourite consultant. Changkyun doesn’t catch it, but picks it up when it bounces off of his head and starts peeling it absentmindedly.

 

“Okay, so,” he starts before biting into a piece of the banana. “They are not related, and the touching, the intimacy, the… Well, everything – do you honestly not see it?”

 

“See what?”

 

“And there is just – Hoseok was never scared for himself, he just thought about _Kihyun…._ ”

 

“Changkyun, will you calm down and let us in on the loop?” Jooheon groans and tosses another banana at Changkyun. This one misses.

 

Changkyun is undeterred.

 

“I just did!” He yells as he rises and sprints out the door. “Now I have something I need to check!”

 

“You - !” Jooheon starts, but gives up pretty soon afterwards. He can’t keep up with Changkyun’s shenanigans, and if he wants to keep going back to a case with a solid resolution, then that’s his problem. Probably some brain wave stuff.

 

He feels sorry for that Kihyun guy.

 

 

 

¤¤¤

 

 

 

He probably does not have the mandate or judicial right or whatever to do this.

 

It may or may not be illegal.

 

Who cares.

 

“Hi Kihyun-sshi, my name is Changkyun,” he starts, settling in the chair opposite Kihyun’s piano stool. It’s soft, comfortable, and he imagines Hoseok leaning back in the chair with a fond smile as he watches Kihyun play through some new piece. It makes him sit up a little straighter.

 

Kihyun admittedly let him in, confused, and directed him to the living room. That means he’s invited, right? Kihyun doesn’t mind.

 

Minhyuk would probably mind – his superiors would _abhor_ it, but if asked, Changkyun will say that Kihyun probably needs the company. He supposes Kihyun will have a hard time getting in touch with anyone right now, and with Hoseok arrested…

 

“Changkyun,” Kihyun echoes, and picks up his notepad. Flicks trough it to a paper marked with yesterday’s date. “Lim Changkyun. Police.”

 

“That’s right,” Changkyun smiles, and Kihyun looks up at him again, almost curious. “Do you know where Hoseok-sshi is?”

 

Like a clockwork, the question sends Kihyun to his notes again. His fingers tremble when he finds what he’s looking for.

 

“Hoseok’s gone away,” he says eventually, frowns as he continues reading his own brief notes. “He killed someone?”

 

“That’s what my colleagues down at the police station think, anyway,” Changkyun shrugs, and he is acutely aware of how inappropriately cheerful his tone sounds. Judging from his confused, if not outright passive-aggressive expression, Kihyun notices as well. “But I’m not so sure. You see, the situation goes a little bit like this. You were found at the crime scene, bloody and unminding of the body like, literally two feet to your left. All of the evidence pointed towards you as well, but then some recent development made Hoseok-sshi our main suspect, and then he confessed to killing the guy and framing you for it – yeah, I know, sounds strange, doesn’t it?” He adds when he sees Kihyun’s face change as if Changkyun just said something morbidly absurd.

 

Changkyun doesn’t mind.

 

“Especially because we both know Hoseok-sshi wouldn’t do that, right?” He says, and his voice takes on a very deliberate tone. “Because Hoseok-sshi… You’re his lover, aren’t you?”

 

Changkyun could pinpoint the exact moment Kihyun’s expression turns from confused to mildly horrified.

 

It’s pretty evident from the way the blood drains from his cheeks.

 

“Can I see your ID, policeman Lim?”

 

“Ah, well, no,” Changkyun rubs the back of his neck in a fake show of discomfort. “So the thing is, I’m not actually a policeman, I’m just a… A consultant, more like. I’m an expert on the brain, you see. It comes in handy for the police, occasionally. Like in your case. So I’ve got this provisory thing, here, you can take a look at that if you want.”

 

He hands Kihyun the temporary ID, and sits back down in the chair. “This is the first time I’ve told you I’m a brain consultant, I think. Huh. Guess you learn something new every day, even if you can’t retain it.”

 

Kihyun looks up at him sharply, but hands the little card back anyway, seemingly convinced by the authenticity.

 

“So?”

 

Kihyun raises an eyebrow, and Changkyun sighs dramatically.

 

“Well, I’m right, aren’t I?” He enunciates it slowly, as if revelling in his triumph. “You must’ve been lovers before the accident. And then he stayed with you… That’s how he became your guardian, isn’t it? Why he’s doing all of this for you?”

 

Kihyun doesn’t answer. It’s not a confirmation, but it’s not a rejection either, and Changkyun didn’t expect much more anyway.

 

“He wouldn’t do something bad and let you get into trouble for it,” he continues, slowly, watching Kihyun’s face for any changes. “And he wouldn’t… He wouldn’t leave you behind like this.”

 

That makes Kihyun look down, at least, but he doesn’t say anything.

 

“But now he had to,” Changkyun presses. “Because something bad _did_ happen, and he thought he needed to save you… Save you from being locked up? Take the fall for you?”

 

“Did I kill him after all?” Kihyun asks, in that quiet, mumbling tone he has, but now it also sounds so scared, so young, and Changkyun wishes he didn’t have to do this.

 

He does.

 

“I don’t know,” he admits. _I think neither of you did it. I think there is more to this than anyone of us know._ “But you might have.”

 

“It makes more sense,” Kihyun says, almost with a little smile. “Hoseok is bigger and stronger than me, but I was always the aggressive one. I don’t… Maybe he has changed, but I don’t think so. I don’t think he would.”

 

“If someone threatened Hoseok-sshi right now – “ Kihyun glances up at him uncertainly. “If someone held a knife to his throat and you had a gun at this knifeman’s temple, would you shoot? Would you kill to save the man you loved?”

 

“I would,” Kihyun nods, almost immediately, and there is a fire in his eyes that easily convinces Changkyun of his determination.

 

“And what about Hoseok-sshi? Would he do the same?”

 

“He…” Kihyun frowns, but then his features melt into something soft, and he smiles, a soft little tug at the corner of his lips, utterly fond and sad at the same time. “He would find another way. He wouldn’t pull the trigger, I don’t think, but he wouldn’t give up, he’d… Talk with him, I guess. Knock him out. Maybe shoot him in the leg and disarm him, I don’t know, I’m not that creative. But I would shoot. He wouldn’t.”

 

“Right,” Changkyun nods. They are playing a game now, one where the winner doesn’t take it all, only the blame. But Changkyun is willing to play along, for now – at least until he gets Minhyuk back on his team. “Then… You realize what this looks like, Kihyun-sshi.”

 

“Yeah,” Kihyun sighs, and turns towards his piano. Before Changkyun even manages to say something, Kihyun starts playing. Slowly at first, then rising, but never to the brutal cadences he reached before, never manic, desperate, just sad and powerful.

 

“I know what this looks like, Changkyun,” Kihyun says as the notes slow down again, minutes afterwards. “And I’m… I’m okay with that. Hoseok shouldn’t ruin his life for me. He’s already done that long enough.”

 

“Hoseok-sshi doesn’t see it that way,” Changkyun remarks quietly. “I’m sure he doesn’t. Whatever he’s done, he did it out of love, not some misguided sense of loyalty or obligation.”

 

“He’s too stupid to see what he’s doing.” Kihyun slams his hands hard down on the keys, interrupting the melody. “He’s not… He doesn’t know what’s best for him.”

 

“He’d say the same about you,” Changkyun points out, and Kihyun sighs.

 

“When is the idiot coming back?”

 

Changkyun blinks. “I’m – well, I can’t say, that depends on how quickly we resolve this, if we can find any evidence either way…”

 

“I miss him,” Kihyun says simply, and starts playing again. It’s another beautiful melody, not mournful but serene, and Changkyun frowns. “I wish you’d tell him it’s okay to come back.”

 

“Well, that doesn’t matter, because the police are holding him indefinitely,” Changyun says. “What he wants is irrelevant right now.”

 

“Why is the police holding him?”

 

“He’s…” Changkyun shakes his head. “Kihyun-sshi, do you know where Hoseok is right now?”

 

“No.”

 

“Right.” He stands up and comes up to Kihyun to give his shoulder a soft pat. Not enough to interrupt the melody, but Kihyun doesn’t seem to notice him anyway.

 

“Well, take care, Kihyun-sshi.”

 

The even pace of a soft melody escorts him on his way out.

 

 

 

¤¤¤

 

 

 

“So if I say that Hoseok might be innocent, what do you say?”

 

“I say fuck off!” Jooheon tosses another banana at him, and seriously, where do these bananas come from? No one besides Changkyun eats them. “He confessed. We won’t get anything more out of Kihyun, that’s it. All the evidence points towards Hoseok as well, what more do you want?”

 

“He and Kihyun were lovers,” Changkyun protests, ducks an incoming banana. “Is, probably, apart from this whole locked-up-thing Hoseok has got going on. That generally isn’t good for one’s sex life.”

 

“Can you please go?”

 

“I’m not done! Kihyun confirmed it – “

 

“Why does it matter? And why would they hide that from the investigation?” Jooheon looks over at Hyunwoo for support, but his only response is a half-hearted shrug.

 

“That, is an excellent question,” Changkyun makes a show out of rubbing his non-existent beard. “I might be able to give you the answer if you let me talk with Hoseok for a while. Or, I mean, forward my request to Minhyuk, please, I haven’t seen him around for a while. Since like, yesterday, at least. Also, Kihyun said Hoseok wouldn’t resort to violence, that he himself is much more likely to do anything – “

 

Jooheon snorts.

 

“Do you want us to go back to charging the guy who can’t admit to anything because he literally has the memory of a goldfish?”

 

“Okay, rude,” Changkyun tosses a banana back. “And no, I just want the investigation to continue. The framing elements against Kihyun still stack up with more questions than our current solution offers – Hoseok planted some of the clues, but not all of them. We might be able to find a motive or an explanation if Hoseok comes clean with us, helps us with Kihyun – then there is the issue with his notes and music sheets – “

 

“I thought you disregarded that? It’s too much, Changkyun, there’s no way you can get anything useful out of that mountain of paper!” Jooheon actually sounds sorry when he says it, and this time, Hyunwoo hums in agreement.

 

A shame, really, Changkyun thought Hyunwoo liked to humour him, like a patient older brother.

 

“Why do you never pay any attention to my theories,” he says instead, pouting. “Remember what I’ve been saying, that Kihyun expresses himself through his music? I still believe it holds. And he writes every day.”

 

“This is getting dangerously similar to a guessing game, or a wacko conspiracy theory.”

 

“Haven’t you ever read Agatha Christie?”

 

“Get out.”

 

“He writes every day, but some scores are missing!” Changkyun says, eagerly. “As well as some notes for one specific date – they are Kihyun’s entire life, he couldn’t afford losing any of them.”

 

“Yes, but – “

 

“Changkyun!”

 

The room falls quiet when Minhyuk calls out Changkyun’s name. He’s leaning on the doorway, looking tired and grim, but mostly determined, and it’s a welcome sight to Changkyun, because he thinks he knows what that means.

 

He hopes he knows what that means.

 

“Come on. I’ll let you talk to Hoseok one more time.”

 

And who said only fools and dreamers dare to hope?

 

 

 

¤¤¤

 

 

 

Outside of the interrogation room, waiting while Hyunwoo secures Hoseok and reads his rights again, Changkyun tries to ask where Minhyuk has been without success. Instead, he settles on summarizing his own conclusions.

 

Conclusion.

 

He really only has that one additional piece of information that might help solidify their mutual suspicion that the case is so much more than what they already have.

 

But when he tells Minhyuk about the true nature of Hoseok and Kihyun’s relationship, he only laughs and pats Changkyun’s shoulder.

 

“I knew something like that was up,” he says with a smirk. “Cousins, my ass. I thought about it when we tried to dismantle Hoseok’s explanation and find evidence against him, but at the time, it didn’t really line up, didn’t mean anything – but if we are right…”

 

“I don’t think it’s a case of a bad break-up either,” Changkyun nods. “If Hoseok grew tired of Kihyun, sure, but really – that’s not the case here, is it? You’re better with people. Tell me I’m right.”

 

“I agree,” Minhyuk says instead, as if the sentence ‘Changkyun is right’ pains him.

 

It probably does, because even when they agree, they don’t stay amicable for too long. That’s just not their relationship.

 

Nonetheless, Minhyuk smiles down at him, and Changkyun sees the genuine affection in his eyes – regardless of what his words claim.

 

“You said you believed in my intuition,” Minhyuk sighs, putting a hand on Changkyun’s shoulder. “It’s time for me to trust yours. If you get what you need, we’re starting fresh again.”

 

Changkyun smiles too.

 

A declaration of faith from Lee Minhyuk. It’s all he ever wanted.

 

Well, not really, but in this case, Minhyuk’s faith helps, since he is in charge of the operations and therefore controls the proceedings and resources put into the case. Minhyuk’s faith will basically let Changkyun do whatever he wants, and that’s the way he likes it.

 

“Alright. Let’s do this.”

 

When they enter the room and steps around the table to take their respective seats across from Hoseok, they are only greeted by a worn glare. It’s not even very effective, because Hoseok’s glare somewhat resembles a sulky otter, but the intent behind it is real enough.

 

“Good morning, Hoseok-sshi,” Minhyuk starts, tone friendly but cautious. “Thank you for sparing the time to talk to us again.”

 

“I have a lot of options,” Hoseok snorts.

 

“No, you don’t,” Changkyun interjects, earning himself another glare, and it’s not that he couldn’t hear the sarcasm in Hoseok’s voice. It’s just that he likes to be difficult.

 

Next to him, Minhyuk rolls his eyes.

 

“I don’t know if you remember me,” Changkyun starts next, clearing his throat slightly before his introduction. Hoseok has seen him before, and Changkyun has definitely seen Hoseok – all the tapes of the interrogations, his final meeting with Kihyun, passing by in the hallways when Changkyun not-so-accidentally happened to be out walking while Hoseok was being escorted through the station. But this is the first time he is talking to Hoseok, on record, officially – might as well do it the proper way. “My name is Lim Changkyun, I’m a doctor focusing on brain research – I’m a specialist investigator here with the police.”

 

Specialist investigator is not his title at all, and Changkyun can practically feel Minhyuk’s desire to point this out, but wisely, he keeps his mouth shut.

 

Changkyun almost wants to remind himself to thank him for that later – he’s trying to convey an image, after all.

 

But only almost.

 

“I remember you,” Hoseok remarks, but doesn’t elaborate. Doesn’t say anything about the circumstances where he last saw Changkyun – when he last saw Kihyun as well.

 

That’s fine.

 

“So we have a very specific agenda today,” Minhyuk says, clearing his throat to clear the tense atmosphere. It doesn’t work, but at least it distracts Hoseok from looking at Changkyun like he wants to drown him.

 

“I should hope so,” he remarks sourly. “You keep saying you’re done, and then you haul me back in here. Prison is going to be a relief after this, at least I’ll have some quiet.”

 

“Right, then I’ll cut straight to the chase,” Minhyuk says, smiling, but Changkyun can see the mischief behind that friendly grin.

 

Minhyuk isn’t fooling him – he likes to play games just as much as Changkyun does.

 

But this time, it’s his turn.

 

“Kihyun-sshi… He told us, Hoseok-sshi.”

 

“Eh?” Hoseok’s eyes snap up to Changkyun, wide and uncertain, but attentive. Not grumpy anymore, but – exposed, open. It’s so obvious, Changkyun thinks, how devoted this man is to Kihyun. How such a little thing as his name has him turning around as if nothing else matters.

 

“He told us about the two of you.”

 

“The two of…” Hoseok starts, but frowns, and then that shadow falls over his eyes again and Changkyun can almost see him retreating into a defensive shell once more. Hiding from any signs of vulnerability, soldiering on. It’s admirable, but it means Changkyun has to dig deeper. Harsher shoves. More deliberate blows. “What exactly are you implying? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“I think Kihyun-sshi would be very sad to hear you belittle your relationship so much.”

 

“Don’t!” Hoseok makes to stand up, but Hyunwoo is there, a hand pressing down on his shoulder before he even has the time to straighten. “Don’t say that. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“You told us you were cousins,” Changkyun points out. “But of course, you’re not. That was a very poor attempt at hiding the true nature of your relationship, wasn’t it? We checked. No relations, whatsoever. And if you don’t mind me saying, if you really wanted to convince us, you should have put on a better act.”

 

“Fine, we’re not related,” Hoseok admits, shaking his head. “But we are… Close friends. We did grow up together, and I… Well, it’s difficult to see your best friend go through all of that.”

 

“Yes, quite distressing,” Changkyun agrees, almost offhandedly. “But distressing enough to give up your own life for him? If you really are that kind of person, you wouldn’t have turned around to blame a murder on him three years down the line, regardless of how worn you became.”

 

“What do you want me to say, officer?”

 

“I just want you to confirm what Kihyun-sshi already told me.”

 

“Kihyun would never tell you anything.”

 

“Yeah, well, more like, he didn’t protest and kind of nodded when I suggested it to him. But you do acknowledge that there is something to tell?”

 

“Why do you even ask? This isn’t relevant to the case. I confessed. It’s done.”

 

And Hoseok’s body language is so defensive, so insecure, that Changkyun is almost tempted to relent. The man on the other side of the table looks like a tired, cornered animal, prepared, but unwilling to fight because there is no way out and the inevitable moves closer by the second regardless of how long he can hold it off.

 

“Just indulge me, Hoseok-sshi.” Changkyun leans forward and gives his warmest, most inviting smile. He’s not sure if it’s going to work, because it usually doesn’t – but so far Hoseok has seemed receptive to compassion, soft eyes and friendly dispositions. He might as well try. “I can turn off the recorder if you want, or send Minhyuk-hyung and Hyunwoo-hyung out to the hall – but there are no unfriendly faces here. We’re not here to judge anyone.”

 

Minhyuk, for his part, does not look like he wants to be sent off to the halls, and strictly speaking, Changkyun doesn’t have the authority to do that either.

 

So perhaps, that scowl was totally well-deserved.

 

“Well, I for one judge murderers and rapists a little bit,” Minhyuk says cheerfully, but with a meaningful squeeze to Hoseok’s shoulder. “But I don’t judge people for who they love. Strictly speaking not my business.”

 

“I don’t really care as long as it doesn’t affect brain activity or composition,” Changkyun adds. “Which it doesn’t, by the way. Homosexuality, that is. If it’s not relevant to the brain, it’s not relevant to me. I live for brains, after all.” He pauses, with a thoughtful look. “That made me sound a little bit like a zombie, but I swear, I only eat things that cannot talk. Parrots notwithstanding, they probably taste like chicken.”

 

And somehow, that seems to crack Hoseok’s resolve just a little bit.

 

He smiles, gives a short snort and shakes his head. Changkyun can see his muscles relaxing, a little bit of the shadows lifting from his brows.

 

“I know it doesn’t seem like it now,” he starts quietly. “But Kihyun was… I mean, he still _is,_ it’s just that it doesn’t come across very well to strangers, and… Well, he’s honestly an amazing person. Not just his music – that’s what most people remember him for now, as that young genius musician. But he was so much more, he – he was always really caring, looking after us all in college, and his brother when he moved to the city, and… Well, he still does things like that, he tries to cook once in a while, but then he loses track of what he was doing and burns it, or forgets the recipe and adds too much salt, but he tries, because he’s still that person, even if…”

 

He pauses, but then smiles, and shakes his head with a small chuckle. “He used to be so witty,” he continues, quieter, but just as fond. “Like, sharp and intelligent. He always had some snarky comment up his sleeve, a little edge that kept us on our toes at all times. That was alright, though, it made life a little bit more exciting, I guess.”

 

Changkyun doesn’t say anything, and Minhyuk and Hyunwoo keep their mouths closed as well. Hoseok talks slowly, trying to find the words as he speaks, and his mind seems to be racing through another time, another life, one that didn’t involve memory disorders and murder accusations.

 

“Now he’s just confused all the time,” Hoseok continues, eventually, eyes downcast. “He knows he is constantly out of place, doesn’t know what joke to make or if it’s appropriate or if it even applies. He doesn’t know what our old friends are doing, he doesn’t know what discussions we’ve already had, doesn’t know if he’s got the… If he’s got the _right_ to participate in life anymore, because he can’t keep track of anyone else. It hurts to see him like that, because he doesn’t deserve it – no one does. I know it’s not fair to compare to him to who he was before the accident, but he… There’s nothing left of that old confidence he had, and that makes him hold back. That’s why he seems so lost all the time, but he’s just scared. And I get that, who wouldn’t be?”

 

“It’s very understandable,” Minhyuk agrees, nodding sympathetically as he sits down again, leaning forward with a friendly smile.

 

He’s enamoured, Changkyun can tell.

 

Minhyuk doesn’t want Hoseok to be the murder – he’s a _sap._

But Changkyun can’t ignore how his heartstrings tighten a little for the two of them anyway.

 

“It’s been hard on us, and it’s very different from how we were before the accident…” Hoseok nods slowly, poking at a small tattoo peeking out from his sleeve. “But I loved him then, and I haven’t stopped just because there are some obstacles. What sort of person would do that? I wouldn’t deserve him in the first place if I was going to abandon him that easily.”

 

Minhyuk looks like he is about to cry and Changkyun knows he is going home to watch a drama afterwards.

 

But still, he can see where he’s coming from – Hoseok’s affections are almost suffocating the room, thickening the air and pulling at their consciences, and suddenly, Changkyun thinks, even if they killed Hong… Would they deserve this? To be separated for the rest of their lives, left alone because they tried to protect each other when the word wanted to tear them apart?

 

Prosecuting either one of them would be devastating for the other.

 

Hoseok plays a character for them, the police, one that he only abandons when he talks about Kihyun, and that is when they see the true person behind the proud mantle.

 

And Kihyun, he shields himself – Hoseok said he was scared, and of course, that would make sense. Anything he says could betray what has been stated before in such a precarious situation, a situation where he doesn’t know anything but the vague outlines his notes and the police provide on occasion. He retreats into himself, not because he is trying to do the right thing, but because he wants to avoid doing the wrong thing.

 

People, Changkyun thinks. People, and their emotions, feelings, perceptions and motives – they all make such simple situations turn into a great mess.

 

But that’s what Changkyun loves about people.

 

They’re a mess.

 

“Why did you keep this from us, Hoseok-sshi?” Minhyuk’s soft voice urges Hoseok back onto relevant grounds, pulling the conversation to the case again. Much like he did during their first interview, only – much gentler this time. More patiently.

 

“Not everyone are as tolerant as this,” Hoseok shrugs, defeated. “I didn’t want our case to be… Coloured, by biases, have people speculate and reject us just because we’re different. We’ve had trouble with that before. People who… Well, don’t treat us very nicely because of what we are.”

 

“Like Hong?”

 

Hoseok sighs.

 

“Yeah… That guy hassled us a lot, especially lately. Those kinds of things didn’t use to upset Kihyun that much before the accident, but now that we were both taken in separately… I didn’t want him to suffer that judgement alone when he didn’t know what was going on, anyway. I thought I’d… Spare him from that.”

 

“That’s…” Changkyun cocks his head to the side. “It’s noble, but I’m not sure if it was a good idea. Just like it probably isn’t a good idea for you to take the blame for this.”

 

He feels sorry for Hoseok.

 

But he also wants Hoseok to come clean, and if he needs to toss him around for a few minutes in order to do that, he will.

 

“Take the – “ Hoseok looks up sharply again, and immediately, his features take on something akin to betrayal. “No, what are you talking about? I killed him, I told you this already!”

 

“Hoseok, you really need to take some acting classes,” Changkyun scolds. “You are not blaming him, you’re covering for him, aren’t you? That seems much more in line with your personality, after all.”

 

“No! Kihyun is innocent!”

 

“See, this is what I’m talking about,” Changkyun looks up at Minhyuk. “You’re defending him so aggressively now, but earlier you were trying to get him convicted? We’ve seen enough to know that you still love him, Hoseok. This isn’t you.”

 

“I’m – “ Hoseok’s defense trails off into a growl as he covers his face with his hands. “No, officer, you don’t – you’re getting the wrong picture! This is why I didn’t want to tell you, you’d make assumptions, and – you’re wrong!”

 

“I am?” Changkyun frowns. “What it looks like to me, is that you came home to see Kihyun-sshi and a dead Mr Hong, the same guy who bothers you about money and your sexuality - and Kihyun-sshi couldn’t tell you anything, so you – you assumed something, right. And you didn’t want Kihyun-sshi to go to jail, so you created this really poor frame job that you were sure the police would see through, and then the remaining evidence would lead back to you, and you would be charged – Kihyun-sshi would go free. It’s not too bad, as far as improvised masterplans go.”

 

“No! You don’t understand!” Hoseok lets his hands fall now, and Changkyun can see two thin trail tracks gleaming on his cheeks. Hoseok looks desperate, helpless and above all, scared. “Kihyun can’t be locked up, he – he needs to be free! He needs to live his life, make music, and… If you convict him, he’s…”

 

“You do realize he’s going to be locked up anyway if you’re charged in his place, right?” Changkyun points out. “Different institution, but still. He’s not going to be able to live his life as freely as now.”

 

“But it will still be better than prison,” Hoseok sighs, and there is a broken smile playing underneath the tears. “Still better than being treated as a murderer, without… Without understanding why… Can you imagine how terrifying it would be to be locked up somewhere with no escape, not knowing why you’re there, not knowing what’s going on…. You can’t put him through that. And he doesn’t deserve it, he’s a good guy. Always has been, and… I just can’t think of him in that sort of place.”

 

“I see,” Changkyun leans back and pauses for a second. Timing. “Look, we realize that this is terrible, but as it stands right now, we honestly do not believe you. But we still have your confession, and that would be enough to charge you – but if we keep investigating this and it turns out, your explanation is fake, you might still be charged with obstruction of justice.”

 

He really hopes he is saying this right, but at least Minhyuk doesn’t interfere.

 

Actually, it doesn’t matter if he says it right. As long as Hoseok believes him, he is good.

 

“Then you might be locked up anyway.”

 

“But I – “ Hoseok starts, cuts himself off, swallows. Thinks for a second. And then doesn’t say anything else.

 

“Hoseok-sshi, we’re going to get to the bottom of this either way,” Changkyun says. “One way or the either. But it’s a lot easier for everyone, yourself and Kihyun-sshi included, if you just tell us right away.”

 

Hoseok looks at him, doubtful – not of Changkyun’s words, but of himself.

 

Changkyun rolls with it.

 

“Shin Hoseok, did you kill this man?”

 

“No.” Hoseok shakes his head softly. “No, I didn’t.”

 

“Okay, good,” Changkyun nods. “Because I don’t think Kihyun-sshi did either.”

 

It’s almost alarming how quickly Hoseok’s expression changes from defeated to viciously vengeful, and Changkyun has no doubt that if he wasn’t cuffed and surrounded by policemen, Hoseok would have put his fist in Changkyun’s face in less than a second.

 

He is glad for the cuffs. Hoseok looks like he packs a mean punch.

 

“Hey, Doctor Kiddo!” Minhyuk growls and cuffs the back of his head. “Don’t do stuff like that! Why can’t you just come clean and say what you mean immediately, honestly.”

 

“Hey!” Changkyun rubs his head and scowls up at Minhyuk. “I wanted a real confession, unaffected by my suspicions. And I got it, so chill.”

 

“Thank you, Detective Lee,” Hoseok bites out and glares across the table. “Couldn’t have done it better myself. Can’t say I appreciate these methods.”

 

“At least you don’t have to work with him.” Minhyuk snorts and sits down again.

 

“Well, we needed you to retract that statement,” Changkyun pouts. “And if I’d just said outright that we didn’t think either one of them did it, of course he would have agreed – then we wouldn’t be sure – “

 

Minhyuk smacks him again. “But if Hoseok-sshi didn’t do it and Kihyun-sshi didn’t do it…. Who then?”

 

“Aahhh…!” Changkyun sighs dramatically. “The plot thickens.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of your comments and kudos so far! Hope this chapter remedied the last one, a little bit...


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I just want to thank all of you for your lovely comments and kudos so far! Hope you're still following the development.

“Hyuuung,” Changkyun whines and plops down in the chair across from Jooheon in the lounge. “Play a game with me.”

 

And Jooheon, who is obviously not busy with the report in his hands at all, looks up at him with a thoroughly unimpressed scowl. He also shoves three ripe bananas across the table as a begrudging apology for his previous dismissals of Changkyun’s theories.

 

“A game?” He repeats. “Why? What sort of game?”

 

It is a little worrying how Changkyun wiggles his eyebrows when he pulls out a deck of cards.

 

“Memory.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Let’s play Memory,” Changkyun clarifies, unhelpfully. “To commemorate this special case. You know, Kihyun’s memory. Or his lack of it, I guess. It’s a simple game, really quick, and it won’t be too hard for you – “

 

“Hey, what is that – “

 

“ – it’s literally just remembering a card here and there. Oh, hey, Hyungwon-hyung!”

 

Changkyun looks up as the long lab coat swishes past him on its way to the coffee machine. He almost envies the way Hyungwon can wear that god-awful standardized coat with such grace – as a doctor himself, Changkyun is entitled to wear one, but he looks like a student again when he puts it on. Although the sizes are uniform, he practically drowns in it and feels more like a toddler than an esteemed researcher when he wears it.

 

So he opts out.

 

It’s not like he needs it, anyway.

 

Hyungwon, on the other hand –

 

“Is that someone’s spleen hanging from your coat?!”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous, it’s just blood,” Hyungwon snorts at Jooheon’s panicked shout, and glances down at the offending spot on his coat. “Actually, it’s a lot of blood, but yeah, still just blood. Maybe some other kinds of goo, but definitely no organs. That’s just gross.”

 

“You stick your hands into dead bodies to find out exactly how they were murdered for a living,” Jooheon points out. “Your perception of gross is all kinds of invalid.”

 

“He’s got a point,” Changkyun concedes, and Hyungwon rolls his eyes as he turns back to the coffee, presumably muttering obscenities under his breath. His lips move, but Changkyun doesn’t hear a thing, and he thinks Hyungwon is missing the point of muttering under one’s breath.

 

Or is it Changkyun that misunderstood?

 

“Why are you looking so sour anyway?”

 

“I was prepared to be nice to you today,” Hyungwon laments and clicks his tongue. “Thanks to the extension of the case I have more time to examine some… Abnormalities about the dead body.”

 

“Abnormalities?” Changkyun perks up. “I love abnormalities. Especially in this case, the more the merrier.”

 

“Ignore him, he doesn’t understand the point of police work,” Jooheon says, shoving a banana in Changkyun’s mouth when he tries to protest. “What kind of abnormalities are you talking about?”

 

“Well, not trying to make assumptions or anything…” Hyungwon starts, but then bites his lip, cutting himself off and letting silence fall over the lounge.

 

Changkyun wants to prompt him to continue, but he has a banana in his mouth.

 

“Buuuut…?” Jooheon must be as impatient, judging by the little handwave he makes to send Hyungwon into action. “Buuuut what?

 

Hyungwon shrugs, taking a sip of his coffee.

 

“A lot things happened between the moment of death and until it was put against the kitchen isle. That’s all I can say for certain?”

 

“What does that mean?” Jooheon frowned. “What happened to it?”

 

“Too early to say, but thanks to you, I have more time to figure it out.” Hyungwon makes it sound like his personal victory, and the little smirk that dances over the coffee mug only accentuates his smugness.

 

Changkyun knows that Hyungwon knows – or at least speculates – a lot more than he is willing to divulge. It’s a little bit frustrating, because the more suggestions Changkyun himself has to go on, the wilder his imagination will run.

 

He is creative, sure, but it helps to have some little nods of inspiration.

 

Nonetheless, he knows he isn’t going to get anything out of Hyungwon if he has decided to keep his mouth shut. Professional pride and all of that, he supposes.

 

But he can knock that cocky grin into his booths, where it belongs.

 

“Hyung, do you want to join us for a card game during your break?” He asks, as innocently as he can manage. Jooheon protests a little from the side, but it’s only for show, and Changkyun knows it. He’s going to play. “We’re playing Memory – appropriate, isn’t it? That’s when you spread the cards across a table, face down, and every player takes turn to flip two cards over to try and find a matching pair, and you have to remember the placement of the card to – “

 

“I’ve played Memory before, I know how it works,” Hyungwon groans, but sets his mug firmly down on the table anyway. “Now let me show you how the pros do it.”

 

Hyungwon really should have considered the different specialties of his opponents. While he is an expert on dead people, Changkyun is absolutely terrifying in his knowledge about the brain and associated cognitive processes.

 

At least, that’s what he’s telling himself –

 

And when he destroys Hyungwon and Jooheon after only a few rounds, his confidence doesn’t exactly stagger.

 

“How?” Jooheon demands. “You barely remember to tie your shoelaces half the time!”

 

“That’s a different kind of memory,” Changkyun defends himself. “This one, on the other hand – well, it’s not necessarily about your ability to remember information, it’s about playing the game. And I’m not playing it alone, I’m playing it with you guys, and you are the ones that really helped me win.”

 

Hyungwon shakes his head in disbelief, downing his second mug of coffee. It’s four in the afternoon.

 

“And how did we help you win?”

 

“Don’t blame yourself, it’s not like you’re doing it on purpose,” Changkyun pats his hand, but Hyungwon immediately pulls it away. “Whenever I flipped a card matching one of those you had seen earlier, your gazes immediately went to that spot, trying to remember its exact location to gauge their positions for later use. I only had to follow your eyes to find my matching card. And if I didn’t know what card to flip, I could watch your reactions as well – if my hand hovered over a card and you looked worried, I knew that was a card you wanted to use later, one where I could find a match. But if you looked smug about it, it was probably a card without a discovered pair or something you knew wouldn’t match what I drew earlier.”

 

He leans back in his chair, watching their surprise with a great sense of satisfaction.

 

Always good to knock some people off their pedestals.

 

“It’s not a game about memory, but about strategy. Deceptive, really.”

 

“Good for you,” Hyungwon sighs, and rises to fill his coffee mug a third time.

 

“Caffeine is not good for _you_.”

 

“No? Does it reduce your brain capacity?”

 

“Function. Different thing. Why do you think I eat bananas all the time?”

 

“Because Minhyuk gets a buttload of them for free from the old auntie near his condo?” Jooheon suggests drily.

 

Changkyun shrugs because, well, that might have something to do with it as well.

 

But blaming potassium sounds better.

 

“Well, it’s been lovely ladies, but I have actual work to do now.” Hyungwon takes off again, swiping his mug from the machine and leaving them behind in a swirly flash of white robes stained red.

 

“Why does he have to be such a drama queen?”

 

 

 

¤¤¤

 

 

 

Minhyuk calls the team back in for a new briefing, and draws a summary of the case on a whiteboard before they start. Changkyun adds his details in at the bottom, listing them as _potential_ issues or _possible_ clues, mostly at Minhyuk’s insistence, but at least he was allowed to include his input in the official report.

 

Hyungwon shows up seven minutes too late with yet another mug of coffee, and a new lab coat. He pulls some photos and illustrations of an anatomical figure out of the huge pockets on his coat, and pins them to the board just above Changkyun’s theories. It’s mildly annoying, but at least he looks like he is ready to give his ideas to the crowd, so to speak.

 

The new confession and the contradictory statements they got out of Hoseok serve as good enough excuses to delay the prosecution and look for more evidence – since his admission was retracted, there is enough evidence to convict _both_ Hoseok and Kihyun, and as tragic as it is, that is a silver lining that enables Minhyuk to prolong his investigation. Hoseok is still kept at the station, listed as main suspect, because Minhyuk hadn't been able to come up with anything concrete that could dislodge him from the solid evidence.

 

The team hasn't divulged the real reasons why they think someone else might be behind this.

 

“So we need to look outside this triangle of Hoseok, Kihyun and Hong, the main persons we have investigated so far,” Minhyuk starts once they are all gathered, and then frowns. “There should be a fourth person, a third potential killer – and I am almost certain of this, as is Changkyun. Let’s review the facts. Hoseok was out of the house, Kihyun and Hong were inside. Something happens – Hong is killed. Hoseok comes back, creates the frame job, and leaves again before we come around. Do we have any timeframes?”

 

“According to Hoseok’s testimony, he returned at two o’clock, left again around three,” Hyunwoo supplies. “We were there around, say… Five thirty?”

 

“When did Hoseok leave the house that morning?”

 

“Around ten.”

 

“Okay, so we are looking at the possibility of another person – several persons? – in the house between ten and two. Any CCTVs in the area?” Minhyuk looks around questioningly, pointedly ignoring Changkyun’s bored yawn.

 

“I’ll check,” Jooheon is off like a lightning bolt, and Minhyuk nods in satisfaction.

 

“Hyungwon, you have something new for us, don’t you?”

 

“I do,” Hyungwon stands up and _preens,_ brushing invisible specks of dust from his coat as he steps up to the whiteboard. Minhyuk isn’t a short person, but next to Hyungwon, he looks like a half-grown child – a fact he seems to be acutely aware of, if the disgruntled expression he wears and the little step he takes away from Hyungwon are any indicators.

 

“So this is how the body was found at the crime scene,” Hyungwon starts, pointing to the first photo, a shot of Hong lined up against the kitchen isle. His legs are stretched out, somewhat awkwardly due to a slight, but stiff bend in his knees, and his shoulders are hunched, even though the back touched the broad plate behind him. “Which looks fair enough, right? Well, it only looks okay because dead bodies always look fucked up anyway.”

 

“Language,” Hyunwoo interjects absently, and Minhyuk rolls his eyes.

 

“Please continue, Hyungwon, we know what you mean.”

 

“Thanks, hyung,” Hyungwon says without gratitude. “When we examined the body, we noticed that the blood had pooled differently from what it would have done if the victim was merely stabbed and fell back against the kitchen table until we found him. This is how it would have looked if that was the case…”

 

He points at an anatomical model of a man with highlighted red sections near the midsection, hands, thighs and back of his legs.

 

“And this is where the blood actually went.”

 

The next photo, same model, but with different highlights – a steady red stripe along the left arm, left side, left leg.

 

“Suggesting he laid on his side for a period after the fatal blow and his potential death,” Hyungwon continues, slowly losing his cocky attitude as he goes along and instead growing into something more approachable, more passionate. “And I’m not just talking about the blood on his clothes, I’m also talking about the shift in blood and fluid distribution inside of his body. It all favours the left side, so it’s not just a brief thing – he was kept on his side for a while after he was injured and until some time after his death. Then there is the stiffness in his joints…”

 

He circles the elbows, shoulders, neck, knees and ankles on the first picture.

 

“They are far too bent for him to have died in this position. He would fall down limp, and then rigor mortis would still stiffen his limbs, but with completely different angles. In fact, the angles he froze in are quite unnatural, uncomfortable even for a conscious person. So this suggests that the victim, after being hit with the fatal blow, was forced to curl up somewhat like this…”

 

He pulls out another photo from his pocket – saving the best for last, always so dramatic.

 

“… and I’m going to leave it to you to figure out why the murderer would do this.”

 

His voice clearly states that he has his own theories about the murderer’s reasons, but Minhyuk isn’t surprised – and he is pretty sure Hyungwon and he has the same idea.

 

The picture shows yet another anatomical model, but this one isn’t standing up straight like the other two – instead, the illustration is made from the side, creating a profile of a man’s figure curled up with his knees against his chest, his head bowed and arms positioned above. Cramped in on himself until he becomes an imperfect little square, and Hyungwon has drawn a straight rectangle around the body to emphasize this, even including suggested approximate numbers for the length and width of the box.

 

Minhyuk has seen suitcases around that size.

 

“This is great, Hyungwon,” he grins, and Hyungwon bows, taking his seat again, practically beaming. “This holds up as evidence that the body was transported between time of death and the discovery?”

 

“Well, maybe not on it’s own – who knows, someone might have weird fetishes for locking people in boxes for an hour or two – “ Hyungwon says this with so much judgement that Minhyuk wants to laugh. “But we also found a set of footprints – or, actually not a set, more like two feet reeling away from the pathway, by the looks of it – and the imprints are heavy enough that the estimated weight of the walker was around 150kg. While that’s absurdly heavy for a single person…”

 

“It wouldn’t be too much of a stretch for a person carrying something heavy! All of this really supports that there is a third person involved,” Minhyuk nods, drawing an arrow to Hyungwon’s pictures.

 

Changkyun is almost bouncing in his seat, looking ready to run out the door and apply these new revelations to anything at all, really. For all Minhyuk knows, he might run off to analyse the psychology of car ownership and relation to murder. He’s not always predictable, but he sure is useful sometimes.

 

And he will definitely come in handy for the next problem.

 

“So from now on, we also need to find new potential suspects,” he continues. “As well as a motive. And this will be the most difficult part, because there are no immediate indications that anyone else is even involved. No incriminating wallets, appointments, anything. So we will have to be creative, look broadly. We are quite certain that the real culprit is someone Kihyun knows – someone that knows about his disability and would be able to use that to mask their crime. I’ve spoken to a few of Hong’s associates, and their statements supports this theory, so we focus on people known to Kihyun as of now.”

 

He glances over at Changkyun meaningfully.

 

“Luckily for us, Kihyun has a very organized way of keeping track of his friends.”

 

 

 

¤¤¤

 

 

 

Changkyun almost finds it funny how surprised and confused Kihyun looks every time they knock in his door. It’s the exact same expression, down to the precise number of wrinkles between his brows and the little flick of his tongue as Minhyuk presents his badge.

 

They explain that they are just here to talk to him, to check some things, nothing dangerous, and Kihyun accepts it all without a fuss.

 

“That’s a lovely melody you’ve got there, playing in the background,” Changkyun remarks as they walk into the living room. For once, Kihyun isn’t thrumming the piano keys himself, but listening to something from a CD player stacked in the bookshelf.

 

At his comment, Kihyun smiles.

 

Then he nods, mostly to himself, and looks out the window. “So beautiful. ‘Winter Elegy of Great Forests’. It’s from Master Lee’s new album, but… He was all about sudden shifts, notes contrasting each other, like people. This is an even flow, more similar to my own style. It reminds me of the first cherry blossom flowers raining across fresh grass in the spring.”

 

“Sure, sure,” Changkyun agrees, even though he doesn’t quite understand. He’s not one to connect vivid images to music, but he supposes Kihyun has a different perspective.

 

Kihyun tilts his head slightly at his comment, challenging, although still not looking at Changkyun. But then he shakes his head and walks away, dismissing the thought, maybe. He reaches the CD player and turns it off with a simple press of a button, but the deafening silence that follows sounds almost unnatural in the usually so musical home.

 

“Why are you here?”

 

And just like that, he retreats a little further into his shell, the armour Hoseok had spoken about – so vulnerable without the crutch of his music, and when the contrast between melodies and quietude comes so briskly, the changes in Kihyun’s entire person are so obvious that Changkyun is almost amazed to not have considered the stark differences before.

 

"Do you know that Hoseok-sshi has been taken away? Arrested?" He asks quietly, when Kihyun sits down by his piano again. It’s his spot, it seems, his safety wheel, comfort zone. At least his shoulders drop a little bit, and he is willing to look at something more than just the ground.

 

At Changkyun’s question, Kihyun frowns, takes out his notepad and leafs through the first pages.  
  
"Yes," he admits. "He killed someone."  
  
He says it so quietly, almost stoic, if not for the subtle signs of distress Changkyun only notices because he is looking for them. The slight shine to his eyes, waver in his voice and a little nose wrinkle barely distinguishable from the confused frown obvious even across the room. He doesn't understand it, doesn't like it - but at the same time he believes it, and Changkyun knows it must be because he had written the note himself.  
  
Kihyun has to trust his notes. They are his lifeline, and he knows this himself - which is why everything he writes is so deliberate, so straightforward and recognizable to himself. He has to trust his notes, otherwise his life falls apart.  
  
Even if the notes tell him Hoseok is locked up for murder.  
  
Looking at the little glint in his eyes now, Kihyun might already think his life is over.

 

Changkyun knows this.

 

Minhyuk should have been here to deal with the fallout, instead of hopping off to the bathroom the minute they stepped inside.

 

Then again, Chankgyun is strangely fascinated by Kihyun – his case, his brain, his relationship to the world outside. The way he copes with the strange disability, finds his own way to live and express himself –

 

That reminds Changkyun of something.

 

He might as well try this while they wait.

 

“Say, Kihyun…” He starts, and pulls a music sheet from his bag. “I went through your archive of notes and scoresheets – you gave me your permission, don’t worry, it’s to solve the case – and there is this one strange thing I came across. You compose every day, right?”

 

Kihyun looks him in the eye, steely. Changkyun is almost taken aback, but orders himself to stay calm.

 

“Probably,” Kihyun says, icy cold. “I think I do. But I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

 

“Right, sorry.” Changkyun knows he doesn’t sound sorry at all, but he is. He’s just got different things on his mind. “But it looks like you do. And you write notes every day, I guess. But going through your stuff, there are some scoresheets missing. Like, some days there are no new compositions even when your notes indicate that there should be something. And then there is this one day… You have a scoresheet, but no notes. That’s the only day since your accident you didn’t write anything. Do you know what that could be about?”

 

“No,” Kihyun shakes his head. “What date is that?”

 

“17th of May, 2011.”

 

“17th of May…” Kihyun echoes, frowning. “17th of May…”

 

“This is the scoresheet for that day,” Changkyun supplies, helpfully, and hands over the paper he grabbed earlier. “Maybe that can help you remember.

 

“17th of May…” Kihyun reads off the top right corner.

 

Changkyun nods, but doesn’t say anything more as Kihyun repeats the date to himself again, each word more muttered than the next until his lips only move imperceptibly and he turns back to the piano.

 

Pressing one key slowly.

 

Frowning.

 

Then another.

 

And another.

 

Changkyun keeps watching as Kihyun’s frown deepens, bringing up his other hand to press more keys in succession, picking up speed until he’s playing a melody – but not a peaceful, serene one like Changkyun has heard before.

 

Instead, it is intense, aggressive, with sudden leaps and violently loud tones, and if Changkyun would ever personify music with a mood, he would say this is –

 

Angry.

 

Angry, or even scared.

 

He finds himself looking at Kihyun’s wild hands, but when he hears rapid breaths and short gasps, he looks back up again.

 

It is like that time, only a few days ago, when he asked Kihyun to play the piece from the day of the murder. The same horror – the same frantic movements. The desperation to keep playing, but also to escape, although Changkyun doesn’t know from what –

 

And Kihyun’s expression is so far from his usual detached calm, instead taking on an almost panicked, desperate look as his shoulders tense and his mouth gapes for air, eyes wide and nostrils flared, and Changkyun barely has the time to react –

 

“Kihyun!”

 

\- before Kihyun slams the shrillest key with a loud bang and tips sideways from his piano chair, hands coming up to grasp at his throat while he struggles to breathe.

 

“Kihyun, calm down, it’s okay, it’s – “ Changkyun tries, attempting to pry Kihyun’s hands away from his neck to keep him from hurting himself, but to no avail. “Hey, don’t worry, you’re safe – “

 

Changkyun tries to calm him down, but he doesn’t know what’s wrong, doesn’t know exactly what triggered the panic attack, and as Kihyun’s face slowly changes colour, he tries to keep his own calm.

 

“Kihyun, breathe – breathe!”

 

“What’s going on?!” Minhyuk storms in, takes one look at the scene and turns accusing eyes to Changkyun. “What did you do? Why is he – “

 

“I don’t know!” Changyun cries back, tries to get Kihyun back up into an upright position, but he is thrashing around, mewling in pain, and Changkyun doesn’t know what to do.

 

“Kihyun, it’s okay! It’s just a song, it – “

 

And then suddenly Kihyun is on his feet, staggering over to the bookshelf while still clutching at his throat and chest, struggling to breathe through violent gasps, and Changkyun can’t do anything but follow.

 

It only takes Changkyun a second to follow, but Kihyun has already torn out a CD cover and thrusts it into Changkyun’s hands before falling down again, dragging a few other cases down with him.

 

Changkyun looks at the CD cover, trying to keep calm while Minhyuk shouts at him in the background and Kihyun’s pained gasps fade away into small, pitiful croaks and his chest begins to tremble.

 

The cover looks completely ordinary, not a production CD but a personal one, with a picture of an old, wizened tree lazily slapped underneath the plastic. When Changkyun opens it, a note slips out.

 

_Track number 3, our song._

Changkyun looks up and finds the CD player on the shelf. Minhyuk is kneeling on the floor next to Kihyun now, lifting him up into a sitting position against his chest as he tries to coax him into breathing again.

 

The CD player is excruciatingly slow and despite how quickly it turned off the music earlier, it takes forever to eject and reload, doesn’t start to play for a few seconds, and Minhyuk punches his leg to make him hurry up –

 

The third track starts out like an easy, soft melody, a gentle stream of piano notes until it is accompanied by a guitar, a bass, a keyboard – a song, quiet, beautiful voice harmonizing with the instruments to create a perfect symphony of calm.

 

When Changkyun looks down at Kihyun again, he is breathing, closing his eyes and relaxing his muscles, but still leaning against Minhyuk.

 

Peaceful.

 

Alive.

 

Changkyun looks at the CD cover again, turns it over to look at the back.

 

Handwritten, but the characters are clean and carefully written.

 

_Our first collaboration!! Let’s make many more ~_

_July 2007_

“It’s Hoseok-sshi and Kihyun-sshi’s first CD together,” Changkyun remarks looking down at Minhyuk. “Before the accident. This track was their song.”

 

“Hoseok taught me to look towards new horizons,” Kihyun mumbles then, drawing their attention. “Piano players are supposed to stay with the classical styles. Thanks to Hoseok, my music was able to develop beyond that… He helped me find my style.”

 

“Did he play the other instruments?” Minhyuk asks quietly. This certainly feels like something so sensitive, so private that they shouldn’t tread lightly.

 

But Hoseok would have been a pillar of comfort right now, wouldn’t he?

 

“I played the guitar and keyboard,” Kihyun sniffs. “Hoseok did the rest. He is the one singing, too. He always made me sing but I forced him to do that one for me. It’s…. It’s my favourite song. Especially when Hoseok is out.”

 

“Hoseok-sshi is – “ Changkyun starts to repeat the reminder, the _revelation_ that has become so familiar to him now, the declaration of Hoseok’s true whereabouts. He doesn’t know if Kihyun has forgotten again, but now, when he looks so crestfallen, fragile, so wounded – he thinks it’s best to leave it be.

 

“Hoseok-sshi is a great guy,” Minhyuk says instead, effortlessly picking up where Changkyun left off. “You’re lucky to have each other."

 

“We are…” Kihyun agrees quietly. “We are.”

 

Minhyuk takes him outside after that, makes him a cup of tea and seats him on a bench in the gardens outside with instructions to calm down and relax for a while. When he comes back inside afterwards, Changkyun is already taking photos of the wall in the back of the living room – Kihyun’s map of acquaintances.

 

There are so many pictures of people here, but considering these are all the people Kihyun knows – maybe they’re actually quite few. Each photo has a little scribble, a name and their relation; friend from school, delivery man, Hoseok’s friend from dancing, neighbour, nurse, friend from concert hall.

 

Mostly they are friends, but they are able to identify a few practical acquaintances as well.

 

Roughly half the photos start with the caption “Hoseok’s…”, and it’s a little bit sad, because Kihyun would really be so terribly, awfully alone without Hoseok.

 

Now it’s their job to make sure he doesn’t have to be.

 

“Okay,” Minhyuk huffs his chest and looks over the photographs – their potential suspects. “One of these people probably killed Hong. The question is – who?”

 

“Well, I suppose we just have to start somewhere,” Changkyun shrugs and covers his eyes with his hand, stretching the other one out to point wildly at a random photo. “Let’s do this one.”

 

He misses the closest photo by three inches, so Minhyuk makes the decision for him.

 

 

 

¤¤¤

 

 

 

Their first interviews are awfully inconclusive.

 

They talk to a Min Yoongi, fellow musician and college friend, who had just come back to town and didn’t even know of the incident before they told him – at which point Minhyuk asked, quite rudely even, if he had been living under a rock, because the tabloids have been all over this case.

 

Yoongi replied by flipping him off.

 

Somehow it didn’t end with his arrest, but they did get some useful statements out of him.

 

First of all, he had an alibi – a street gig in the city centre, booked, clean and confirmed. Waterproof, for the entire day, and Minhyuk resisted the urge to gag when he saw the bill about teaching poor street kids to rap and beat to give them something productive to do instead of turning into juveniles and welfare freeloaders.

 

He also confirmed that another one of the people on their list, Park Chanyeol – fellow college music major who also played the piano – was at the event with him, and could back this up with photos of the two together, basically crossing two names off the list in one interview.

 

But most importantly, they got good character sketches of both Kihyun and Hoseok that helped support their suspicions.

 

“Hoseok would go to the end of the world _and_ kill himself before he lets anything happen to Kihyun,” he had said with a shrug. “And he’s a terrible liar, I’ve seen him trying to sneak ramyun from a convenience store as a poor student, didn’t end well. At best, he might try for some Obi-Wan shit.”

 

“Obi-what?” Minhyuk had frowned, cocking his head as if he misheard.

 

Changkyun came to his aid then. “Obi-Wan, from Star Wars. You know, ‘it is the truth from a certain point of view’, that kind of stuff.”

 

“That’s earnest Hoseok for you,” Yoongi nodded, grateful that someone understands. “He wouldn’t be able to keep that relationships up if he suddenly changed his mind, everyone would know. I mean, not sure if I could keep going like that – full respect to him for everything he does. But if he did change his mind, they wouldn’t still be living together. And you wouldn’t ask me questions about his character.”

 

Yoongi had promised to visit Kihyun as soon as he was free, and while they thanked him for his consideration, it won’t make much of a difference.

 

But at least, there is someone who is willing to try.

 

Someone that isn’t Hoseok.

 

After that, they tried to contact childhood friend Lee Jeongmin, only to find out that he’s currently working in Japan and hasn’t been to Korea for eight months.

 

They reached similar conclusions with his college mom Hyojung, currently living in Jeju, and high school music teacher Kim Hyungsoo, on a trip with his current students to Australia. Both of them had only positive things to say about Kihyun, and wished for a swift and fair resolution of the case.

 

His regular social worker had a solid alibi as well, and didn’t provide them with anything useful or new – was only able to confirm the daily functions of Kihyun’s disability as far as she knew, which, admittedly, was far less than they had been able to figure out themselves.

 

They eventually got to meet a Park Kwangji, high school companion of Hoseok’s. Admittedly, he didn’t have much time and the brief interview was carried out in the personnel room of a crowded kindergarten, but at least they got to talk to someone.

 

Kwangji could only shrug and claim to be home at work that day as well, and he didn’t give them much new information.

 

“I don’t see them often anymore,” he had said, apologetically, and really seemed to mean his remorse. “It’s tough for them, and sometimes Hoseok needs to blow off some stead, but – I mean, never at Kihyun, of course, he loves Kihyun, but he just needs a break sometimes. Needs to forget... Ironic, isn’t it?”

 

“What do you do when you help him… ‘Forget’?” Minhyuk had already drawn a circle around the word ‘forget’ in his notebook at the time, but would later realize that it was a pretty pointless word to emphasize in this case.

 

“We would take him out,” Kwangji shrugged. “Bars, pubs, clubs… Kihyun never fancied those, not back in college and not now. Well, I guess it would be outright dangerous to take him somewhere like that now. But he always gave his blessing, of course, and Hoseok made sure to put up notes before he left so Kihyun wouldn’t worry. Useless, anyway, they both worry about each other more than normal couples do.”

 

“Did this happen frequently?”

 

“Once a month, maybe?” Kwangji bit his lip, trying to remember. “Or maybe not that often. And Hoseok didn’t always join, but yeah, every other month or so at least, I’d say.”

 

“Did he ever express any… Signs of distress, besides the obvious? Did he seem like something was bothering him, something you didn’t know about?” Changkyun had leaned forward like he’d seen Minhyuk do so many times and promptly fell out of the undersized chair.

 

Minhyuk had pretended not to see.

 

“He worried about Kihyun, said his neighbour was a bigoted asshole and complained about the ventilation in the dance studio,” Kwangji had shrugged. “Occasionally he’d have a go at politicians or celebrities, since Kihyun can’t keep up with those discussions. He was really down for about a month last year when his family’s dog died, but no, I never felt like he hid any troubles from us.”

 

“What about finances? Did they have a stable economic situation?” Minhyuk pressed.

 

“Ah, yeah, he couldn’t quite make the ends meet all the time,” Kwangji started, but then shook his head and gave a quiet chuckle. “Or, I mean, he struggled, but he somehow always made it. He wouldn’t accept any loans or contributions from us, but we’d buy him a round at the pub, anyway, and he took that easily enough. He never made it seem like a huge issue, and since he managed, we figured not to ask. Hoseok is a kind man, but he is also proud. I don’t think he wanted to become the resident beggar, always known for not being able to go to that special barbeque place just because his pockets weren’t always full. And I kind of get that, you know? He has a lot of responsibilities, especially with Kihyun, and I guess he wants to feel like he is in control. Like he could manage it all. Admitting the problem to your friends is sort of the same as admitting defeat. We would never see it that way, of course, but he…”

 

“He wanted to do show the world that he was doing okay.”

 

They had promised to contact him if they needed anything else – he was by far the most helpful interviewee they had talked to that day, but unfortunately also not that helpful.

 

When Jooheon called halfway through the day, announcing that the only surveillance cameras available were three blocks away and wildly unhelpful until they at least narrow down the suspects, and even then, probably useless, Minhyuk demanded that they take a break with some well-deserved ice coffee.

 

Changkyun takes his green tea and waits while Minhyuk punches out his incredibly complex, incredibly unhealthy smoothie-coffee-concoction and waits for the witchcraft to work.

 

“So,” he says at last, slamming his brown and white creation down on the table with a loud sigh. “This hasn’t exactly been as quick as I hoped.”

 

“How long does it usually take you to track down suspects and get their testimonies?” Changkyun shrugs, sipping his tea. It’s bitter, but refreshing. “It’s only been a little more than a day.”

 

“Well, time is ticking by excruciatingly slow in this case,” Minhyuk snorts, licks some cream from the top of his glass. “But I just… Every time we hit a new dead end, I see Kihyun alone in that house, plundering around on his piano, wondering where Hoseok is, and I just… I don’t know. It seems so sad. I feel terrible for him.”

 

“I know,” Changkyun bites his lip. “I didn’t think I’d end up caring so much, but I really hope they get a happy ending.”

 

“As happy as it can get,” Minhyuk points out with a sharp look. “That disability is quite a burden. You heard what Park Kwangji said. I know Hoseok is great for helping him, but it’s not easy on either of them.”

 

“Everything is relative,” Changkyun half-agrees and turns back to the list. They have crossed out six names, but there are still enough people to talk to. It would have been silly to hope that they would hit jackpot right in the beginning, but he can’t help but wish that they had some more clues as well.

 

Nothing they have heard so far gives them any further indications about who the true killer could be.

 

It’s only natural that these people, healthy, young adults in the midst of their career would be working or otherwise preoccupied on a completely normal weekday like that. Probably, many other names on the list will be crossed out with the note _at work_ written next to them, and that’s all there is going to be. Maybe they will have observations, remarks or ideas that could become useful, but even that is uncertain. The different people in Kihyun’s life has very little to do with each other, most haven’t even heard any other names. They tried to read some to Yoongi, Kwangji and the social worker, toss a couple of descriptions to Hyojung over the phone, but it didn’t bring them anything.

 

Well, they didn’t expect this part to be easy anyway.

 

But that doesn’t mean it’s easier to accept.

 

“We have a couple scheduled tomorrow, right?” Minhyuk interrupts his musings.

 

His glass is empty and Changkyun gawks.

 

“Uhm… Yes,” he agrees slowly. “A previous buyer of a composition and that famous pianist… Lee Hyunshik?”

 

“Busy man,” Minhyuk remarks. “I’m glad he found some time for us after all.”

 

“Well, you know how it is with these renowned musicians.”

 

Minhyuk doesn’t. Changkyun doesn’t either, but he felt like it was a thing people say.

 

“In the meantime, why don’t we go play some cards?”

 

“No.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay, I wanted to keep updating and be done within a week or two, but as you know, life happens.
> 
> In return, please accept this extra long chapter! Thank you so much for your feedback up until this point, I feel so lucky to have such dedicated readers! I love reading your theories and frustrations about the story so far, it's honestly so humbling to hear about the amount of time you have dedicated to this storyline. As some of you might have noticed, it has started to diverge significantly from MR BRAIN at this point, so I hope you enjoy the expansion. And I'll do my best to get the next chapter up soon!

 

It is sunny and warm the day they are meeting Lee Hyunshik, and the spring shows off Seoul’s best side as it is bathed in bright light and fresh green, budding flowers. Particularly here in Yeouido, where the parks are already buzzing with life and people eagerly await the shower of pink petals from the trees above. Even the juxtaposition of the tall glass towers and the quiet fields of vegetation doesn’t seem as grating like this.

 

Figures Lee Hyunshik would have a studio in such a place.

 

Hyunwoo is with them today, which is fortunate, because the receptions seemed positively unimpressed with their request for her to contact the musician immediately, until Hyunwoo had looked at hear with big, imploring eyes and reiterated that they have an appointment, please let him know that we are here.

 

Which she did, promptly, much to Minhyuk’s annoyance.

 

“Didn’t know you could be such a womanizer, hyung,” he points out afterwards and jabs Hyunwoo’s arm sharply.

 

“I just asked her nicely,” Hyunwoo defends with a shrug. “I’m not womanizing anyone. But when you just shout ‘we’re the police’ and demand to see someone, she’s right to question you.”

 

“We’re in his schedule, she should know we would be here.”

 

“Maybe she didn’t know his schedule?”

 

“If she’s a good secretary, she would know her employer’s schedule for the day.”

 

“Maybe it’s her first day?”

 

“Maybe you’re just too nice,” Minhyuk snorts, and looks over his shoulder. “Where did Changkyun go, anyway? I could have sworn he was here just now.”

 

“He saw a cat outside,” Hyunwoo says, and only looks slightly sheepish. “He’s right over there, he’ll come running when we’re ready to move on.”

 

He points towards the bushes just outside the glass walls where, truthfully enough, Changkyun squats down to scratch a red tabby cat. It has a collar and is clearly domesticated, from the way it rubs against Changkyun’s leg affectionately while he rubs a spot behind its ears, but that is no good reason for Changkyun to just disappear like that and sit himself down on the sidewalk next to a pristine office building in the expensive part of Seoul.

 

No wonder they are not getting the respect they deserve.

 

“Can you go get him now, please?” Minhyuk sighs and rubs his temple. It’s only ten in the morning. It’s too early for this kind of nonsense.

 

Nonsense.

 

That’s a word Changkyun uses.

 

“I’m sure he’ll come – “

 

“But he’s not exactly making a great first impression and I’m worried he’ll get cat hairs all over his suit,” Minhyuk groans, cutting off whatever goodhearted argument Hyunwoo was trying to make. “He doesn’t know how suits work, he’s a smartypants. Please go and get him, hyung, I’m already suffering here.”

 

Thankfully, Hyunwoo acquiesces without further ado, and although Changkyun looks mildly pouty when they return inside, Minhyuk’s nerves are a little bit calmer.

 

He shouldn’t be nervous, he is a detective. A good detective, at that. And this is just another interview with another acquaintance of one of the involved parties.

 

Except it’s not – not really.

 

Lee Hyunshik is famous, adored and loved for his music, respected for his mild but mysterious persona when he appears on TV. Although not necessarily the most affable character, the public has embraced him, and he fits an archetype that demands to be revered rather than approached.

 

Minhyuk doesn’t know much about his music, but he knows that it is widely known even beyond the borders of Korea, and that he has been composing for basically as long as Minhyuk has remembered to tie his shoelaces. Hyunwoo had mentioned earlier that despite some slow years with no new publications while young charmers like Yoo Seungwoo entered the scene, Lee Hyunshik came back stronger than ever a couple of years ago, with a completely new arsenal of musical wonders, and he quickly became the pearl of the industry once more.

 

And now they are going to interrogate him about a murder case.

 

Minhyuk doesn’t want to feel daunted.

 

But he does.

 

Unfortunately, his two companions don’t seem to share his unease – Hyunwoo is too calm, and Changkyun is too busy trying to come up with new theories about the case and the marital states of the kitten outside to even consider the implications of what they are about to do.

 

Maybe Minhyuk is overthinking this.

 

Maybe Lee Hyunshik will be welcoming, nice, and down to earth, with a full understanding of their current situation down at the station.

 

But judging from the charmless appearance of his secretary, Minhyuk isn’t optimistic.

 

They are picked up eventually, twenty minutes past the agreed time, by an intern with red cheeks and trembling hands that tells them to follow him up to Master Lee’s private lounge.

 

Because apparently famous musicians have lounges, private assistants, and nasty secretaries.

 

Minhyuk doesn’t know when he started to dislike Lee Hyunshik, but the fact of the matter is that he does.

 

Admittedly, it is a little bit unfair, firstly because he has never met the guy, and secondly, he must be somewhat genuine since he not only recognized Kihyun and Seungwoo’s talents, but also helped foster them. Young, unknown children and a famous composer – that should win him some decency points, and Kihyun never talked about him in a bad way.

 

Now that Minhyuk thinks about it, he doesn’t think Kihyun talked about him at all. Not very strange, perhaps – the two of them probably don’t stay in touch anymore.

 

He wonders if Lee Hyunshik and Yoo Seungwoo stay in touch these days.

 

The old veteran and the young genius – the teacher and the student. Playing together on the same scene.

 

They are probably closer to each other than to Kihyun, since only Seungwoo was able to follow the aspirations set out by their master.

 

They will definitely have some things to talk to Seungwoo about as well.

 

And that’s another obstacle that’s current stressing Minhyuk out – they have been completely unable to contact Seungwoo, unable to call him in or schedule an interview. It’s a little bit frustrating, because he might very well be able to contribute to the investigation, and Changkyun in particular said he wanted to get in touch with as many of Kihyun’s musical colleagues as possible.

 

There is also the issue of him being conveniently unreachable at the time when they expand a high-profile murder case.

 

Jooheon is back at the station, trying to track him down, but Minhyuk isn’t holding his breath. Maybe Lee Hyunshik can give them something to go on, his whereabouts, personality, capabilities, anything.

 

The assistant coughs awkwardly and draws Minhyuk’s attention back to the present situation. His mind wanders a little in cases like this, thoughts start to go everywhere and about everything, but he needs to reel himself in and change his focus now that they are going to talk to a civilian.

 

A famous civilian.

 

Famous musician.

 

Famous asshole that is still late for his meeting.

 

“Master Lee will be right with you,” the assistant promises, shifting awkwardly on his feet and pointedly not looking at any of them where they are seated on a plush, velvet couch. “Would you like something do drink while you wait? Tea, coffee…?”

 

“Coffee would be great, thank you,” Hyunwoo smiles and nods at the boy, nudges Changkyun a little to make him give an answer as well.

 

Hyunwoo is too nice, Minhyuk thinks. But that’s fine, it’s always good to have a good cop.

 

“Sparkling water?”

 

And now Minhyuk knows Changkyun is playing the kid. Changkyun hates sparkly water.

 

“Uhm, y-yes, would you like lemon with?”

 

“A sprinkle, thank you.”

 

The assistant’s eyes shift towards Minhyuk’s feet, as if that’s a real question, but Minhyuk isn’t having any of it. He wants the assistant to look him in the eye when he asks, instead of this ridiculous nervousness that’s basically treating them like royalties.

 

Then he feels kind of bad, because wasn’t he the one who was worried about Lee Hyunshik half a minute ago?

 

But the assistant looks up eventually, meeting Minhyuk’s eyes carefully as he mumbles his inquiry one more time.

 

Minhyuk smiles at him. “Just coffee for me as well, please.”

 

The assistant scampers off with a bow, and Minhyuk immediately feel Changkyun’s calculating gaze around the general area of his ear.

 

“What was that all about?” He asks, and Hyunwoo nods.

 

“He’s an assistant, not an ant,” Minhyuk shrugs. “Which also means he’s a person, not just a tool. Thought someone needed a reminder of that.”

 

“But – “

 

“And what about you, then? With your sparkling lemon water. You don’t even like carbonated drinks.”

 

Changkyun smirks at that, the _brat,_ and Minhyuk gets up to kick his shin.

 

“Can you please behave for once – “

 

“Gentlemen.” A deep, smooth baritone interrupts their bickering, and Minhyuk quickly straightens to look at the new arrival.

 

He had googled Lee Hyunshik of course, gotten an overview of his appearances, music, accomplishments and so on – complimented by Hyunwoo’s always mysterious knowledge on seemingly random topics – but it’s different to see the two-dimensional image of a revered man standing in front of you.

 

For one, he is taller than Minhyuk thought he would be – taller, and his presence is more demanding than his televised recreations suggests. With a patient smile that doesn’t stray past his lips and hooded eyes, he takes up the entire room and suddenly Minhyuk’s nervousness comes back again, creeping like a spider down his spine.

 

It’s not that Lee Hyunshik looks particularly imposing or particularly handsome. Apart from the fine wool suit and the polished shoes, he looks just like any other man. Thick, dark hair, small eyes and a stiff pose, creating the perfect appearance of an average man put on a pedestal.

 

But Minhyuk supposes it’s what he carries with him, and not what he looks like, that is what makes Lee Hyunshik a remarkable man.

 

“Lee-sshi,” Minhyuk bows immediately, putting on his professional, mild smile. “Thank you for your time, we really appreciate it. I am Detective Lee Minhyuk, this is officers Son Hyunwoo and Lim Changkyun. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

 

That’s fake. Very fake.

 

But if Hyunshik is bothered by it, he doesn’t show it – in fact, he doesn’t acknowledge the introductions with any particular emotion, just nodding as Minhyuk presents his team.

 

“Thank you for seeing us,” Hyunwoo gets up as well, and bows deeply without meeting Hyunshik’s eyes.

 

Hyunshik nods again, curtly, and waves a hand in the direction of the armchairs and the couch. “Of course, doing my duty to the community. Please, sit.”

 

They do, Hyunwoo sinking back into the couch while Minhyuk and Hyunshik take one chair each. Changkyun raises his arm vaguely in Hyunshik’s direction, but the composer ignores him.

 

Which is a small mercy, Minhyuk thinks.

 

Hyunshik doesn’t appear to be impressed by them at all – he’s almost twice the age of anyone of them, and carries himself with the air of a wise artist that has seen too much and grown weary of the universe, someone who looks at others and pity their ignorant existence while simultaneously refusing to acknowledge what their faults are.

 

And Changkyun’s careless disposition doesn’t seem to sit well with their new witness. Admittedly, he looks guileless, and should have gotten up to greet Hyunshik like Minhyuk and Hyunwoo, but too late now.

 

Minhyuk will lead the interview anyway.

 

“Lee-sshi, we would like to ask you some questions about Yoo Kihyun-sshi and the recent murder case,” he starts, trailing off when the assistant returns with their drinks, including a steaming, foamy glass cup he sets in front of Hyunshik before moving on to the other three. He still doesn’t look them in the eye, although he glances nervously towards Minhyuk before scampering off again. Hyunshik never looked at him once.

 

Instead, he’s still eyeing Minhyuk, seizing him up, calculating – what?

 

He doesn’t like it.

 

“Go ahead,” Hyunshik prompts, slowly, when Minhyuk doesn’t say anything else. “But I don’t see much of Kihyun these days, so I don’t know if I can be of any help.”

 

“We’ll be the judges of that,” Minhyuk says, with a tight smile. “You say you haven’t seen him lately, could you elaborate on that, please?”

 

“Sure.” Hyunshik leans backwards with a great, put-on sigh and looks towards the ceiling. “I had two protégés once, Kihyun and a Yoo Seungwoo. I dedicated my time to the those boys, and they were supposed to rise to fame together, or at least compete for the spotlight for a bit longer. But then the accident happened, and Kihyun… Well, he fell out. He couldn’t perform anymore, not with a short-term memory that unpredictable. And he tried to stay in touch in his own ways, writing notes and taking pictures, but it was too much. I have no professional association with Kihyun anymore, and I rarely have reasons to see him otherwise either.”

 

“Can you tell us a little bit about Kihyun-sshi and Yoo Seungwoo-sshi? What your impressions were?”

 

“Great boys, both of them.” Hyunshik nods to himself, looking almost a little bit more invigorated as he thinks about his students. “I have never seen such talent – the musicality was almost tangible with the two of them – but as people, they have always been very different. Seungwoo is an optimist, happy and warm, and his music reflects that, it permeates you and leaves a tingling ease down your spine. Kihyun, on the other hand… Even before the accident, he was a bit of a melancholic. Closed-off, proud and almost haughty, in the beginning. But he would compose the liveliest, most passionate pieces. Like he had already lived a thousand lives and wrote an elegy for each one.”

 

Minhyuk stopped taking notes at some points, but he mulls the descriptions over in his head.

 

It’s similar enough to what Hyunshik said in that newspaper, just the day after they started investigating the case – if not more elaborated, but the journalist might have cut some of his impressions from the article. At least Hyunshik is consistent, if a bit pompous.

 

How much of this is the artistic persona letting himself blabber, and how much is relevant for the case?

 

He glances over at Changkyun, and sees how tense his fingers are, how he leans forward on the couch in stark contrast to Hyunwoo’s relaxed posture. He sees Changkyun’s eyes flicker, narrow, widen, taking in Hyunshik’s words.

 

There is probably something in there – something he has latched onto, something he will tell Minhyuk about afterwards. Maybe he is searching for more ideas, maybe he is waiting for something more…

 

Minhyuk continues the interview without acknowledging Changkyun – probably for the best.

 

“Are you still in touch with Yoo Seungwoo-sshi, then?” He asks, writing the name a few lines beneath the rest of his notes. He really hopes Hyunshik can give them something useful about Kihyun’s elusive faux twin, his successful half, his inverted mirror, the one who succeeded while Kihyun crashed to the ground. The one Minhyuk has been unable to reach at a vital time.

 

“I am,” Hyunshik confirms slowly. “I still work with him, although not as much as before. I don’t have the time to teach him anymore, but even more so – it’s time for him to find his own way as a pianist. He’s already quite successful, we’re more like colleagues than student and teacher nowadays.”

 

“Right, because you recently returned to the music scene, didn’t you?” Minhyuk says, glancing over at Hyunwoo, who nods. Why Hyunwoo knows this much about classical music, Minhyuk doesn’t know, but he’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.

 

“’Recently’ is such a relative term,” Hyunshik says, frowning. “I wouldn’t say I ever disappeared, I merely… Had a break. Waited for inspiration. It must be almost three years ago now, that I sat in a garden at Jeju, looking at the free flow of the cherryblossoms, and suddenly, it came to me. I have not stopped ever since. Two albums, one more in the making just now – it’s the life of an artist, you know. All or nothing.”

 

Minhyuk doesn’t like this guy.

 

Brilliant musician or not, he’s too fleeting, too haughty and caught up in his own head to appreciate the fact that the police is here to solve a murder case, not stroke his ego.

 

“Does the name Hong Jeonsoo mean anything to you?”

 

“I am afraid it does not,” Hyunshik shrugs, but doesn’t look apologetic.

 

“Okay, then, how about…” Minhyuk flips the page of his notebook and starts reading out the list of names from Kihyun’s wall, pausing slightly between each to give Hyunshik time to react.

 

His face remains blank the entire time – until Minhyuk adds, almost as an afterthought, the name Shin Hoseok.

 

“That name rings a bell,” he says and takes a sip of his drink, deliberately slowly, and Minhyuk wants to punch him. “Kihyun’s roommate, isn’t he?”

 

Roommate. Sure. Technically not wrong, so Minhyuk only nods for him to continue.

 

“I never liked him much,” Hyunshik drawls, and Minhyuk can’t say he’s surprised. The two of them have very different personalities, very different approaches to Kihyun – their single point of connection. It’s not impossible to believe that they didn’t go well together.

 

But at this point Minhyuk has to stop and berate himself – although he has started to like Hoseok and gotten an unfavourable impression of Hyunshik, he shouldn’t let that colour his impression of the testimonies presented. He’s a professional, he needs to listen unbiasedly, compare the statements to other pieces of evidence and parallel interviews. He cannot afford to dismiss Hyunshik’s contributions solemnly based on his own lack of chemistry with the man.

 

“I never met him until after Kihyun’s accident, and he was very aggressive towards me. Accused me of riling Kihyun up, making him confused and uncertain and upset, but I thought it was all unnecessary. I treated Kihyun in the same manner as I always had, but his so-called ‘guardian’ thought that was unkind of me.”

 

“We have experienced Hoseok-sshi to be a bit protective,” Minhyuk agrees, weighing his words carefully to avoid revealing too much about their investigation – just enough to spur him on.

 

“I’d go further and say overbearing,” Hyunshik snorts, and damn, even his undignified pig noises sound artistic. Like a majestic horse puffing at the dirty stable-boy.

 

“Did he prevent you from talking to Kihyun-sshi?” Changkyun pipes up, and Minhyuk looks over at him, surprised. It’s not a bad question, one Minhyuk might have asked himself, but he didn’t see why Changkyun was so interested in this.

 

Did Minhyuk miss something?

 

Hyunshik looks equally taken aback by Changkyun’s outburst, but eventually shrugs his head. “No. It was just… A thing that happened. Kihyun couldn’t keep up, and I got busy. I’m sure Shin-sshi didn’t mind, though.”

 

“Do you know of anyone else that might have earned Hoseok-sshi’s ire?” Minhyuk proceeds, carefully. “Anyone else that might have wanted to… Hurt Kihyun-sshi, a competitor, maybe, or just someone he annoyed?”

 

“Are you implying that Shin-sshi saw me as a threat to his charge? My former pupil?” Hyunshik seems outraged, but Minhyuk is unfazed.

 

“Just answer the question, please.”

 

“The answer is no,” Hyunshik sneers. “Kihyun was my protégé, student first and foremost – not my son. I didn’t know, nor care, who he acquainted himself with. I also don’t know what impression you have of the music industry, Detective Lee, but I assure you, in our world, disputes are settled with careful discussions, not fists. Kihyun is a young man, he might do something unwise and irrational, but if he made poor connections that would eventually result in this…. Murder… it was not with someone from my circuits.”

 

He pauses for a second, as if calming himself, and Minhyuk glances over at Changkyun and Hyunwoo – they are taking this all in, he knows.

 

“Now, if you have any further questions, make them quick, I need to get back to work,” Hyunshik says, much more impatient, and much more openly aggressive than before.

 

once“Just to,” Minhyuk licks his lips, leans back in his chair. He shouldn’t provoke the witness, he knows, but he can’t help it in this case, taking it slowly and aggravating this person as much as possible – this doesn’t depend much Hyunshik’s attitude towards them anyway. “Firstly – we have been unable to contact Yoo Seungwoo since the incident, do you know why that is? Have you heard anything from him, is he away or ill, or…?”

 

“No, as far as I know, he should be available.” Hyunshik’s frown deepens, and he stands to leave. “Then, please excuse me – “

 

“Of course, of course,” Minhyuk smiles and rises with him, Hyunwoo and Changkyun following suit.  He bows as they turn to leave, but just as Hyunshik is about to retreat in the other direction, Minhyuk stops and calls out again.

 

“Lee-sshi! I’m sorry, I almost forgot, but where were you at the day of the murder?”

 

When Hyunshik looks back at him, his eyes are icy cold. “I was at home, working.”

 

“Can anyone confirm that?”

 

If anything, the gaze turns even colder, and Minhyuk straightens as he waits for the answer.

 

He is not about to be outdone by a self-righteous artist.

 

Hyunshik clicks his tongue before answering. “No.”

 

“Well then,” Minhyuk smiles, and bows once more. “Thank you for your time, Lee-sshi.”

 

Hyunshik doesn’t reply to that – instead, he briskly turns around and walks away from them.

 

The assistant returns soon afterwards, guiding them down to the ground floor in silence, and Minhyuk waits until they are outside before voicing his thoughts to his companions.

 

“What an absolute asshole.”

 

“He wasn’t very charming,” Hyunwoo agrees quietly. “But he makes great music.”

 

“He’s neurotic,” Changkyun remarks, staring at the sky. Bright blue and almost cloudless. “He looked calm, but his toes were fidgeting. Not necessarily nervously, but – “

 

“How did you even notice his toes fidgeting?” Minhyuk groans. “He was wearing shoes!”

 

“His foot moved slightly, but systematically,” Changkyun shrugs. “Could just be a tic.”

 

“He probably didn’t like our questions,” Hyunwoo points out, fiddling in his coat pocket for the car keys as they walk. “It’s not good for him to be associated with a murder case. It’s bad enough that his student is in the middle of it, this is only negative publicity for him, nothing anyone who wants to be favoured by the public would like.”

 

“You think it’s just that, then?” Minhyuk frowns. “Self-preservation? It would be in his best interest to help us solve the case, if he’s not involved.”

 

“If he’s scared for his reputation, it’s only natural to get defensive even if he isn’t involved.” Hyunwoo stops and waits for Changkyun, who’s reading something off a sign nearby. “He might not see this the same way that we do. It doesn’t mean he’s involved.”

 

Minhyuk sighs and glares at Changkyun, silently urging him along with his eyes. “I suppose that’s right. What do you think about Yoo Seungwoo, then? Does this infamous old master know anything more about him – and why haven’t we been able to contact him if he should be available? It’s a bit suspicious, don’t you think?”

 

“I don’t know,” Hyunwoo replies earnestly. “I must admit, the two of them… It’s a bit weird, but maybe that’s just from our point of view. They are individuals as well, with personal lives and issues we know nothing about. We can’t toss out suspicions left and right.”

 

And Hyunwoo is completely right.

 

They can’t.

 

Minhyuk relies a lot on his intuition, even though he knows it’s not strictly adhering to professionality – he has gone outside the box, provoked witnesses or potential suspects until they snap and give him what he wants. He wrote his free assignment in the police academy on heuristics, and is well-versed in the art of framing and subconscious manipulation. A common feature he and Changkyun shares – one of very few, and though he doesn’t always approves of the methods, he knows he shouldn’t judge when he does the same thing himself, occasionally. It’s not strictly ethical, and he tries to avoid using such methods, but sometimes, he makes hasty judgements and falls into the trap of seeking confirmation himself.

 

Especially when he allows his personal opinions to affect his work.

 

Which he shouldn’t – it has saved him a lot of times, but it is far from a universal formula, and it’s something his superiors wouldn’t approve of. Not proper police work, they would say.

 

That’s why Hyunwoo is such a great companion when he gets too invested; Hyunwoo is calm, objective, more analytical than Minhyuk in a lot of ways, even if he isn’t as creative and less able to see connections between seemingly unrelated dots.

 

Hyunwoo is grounding, Hyunwoo is a reminder, and Hyunwoo is balance. He respects Minhyuk’s work, but at the same time, he is perfectly capabe of voicing his opinions when he disapproves of the direction the investigation is taking.

 

Then there is Changkyun – the wildcard.

 

The most analytical, the intelligent, the unpredictable.

 

The one that is currently talking to a child about the benefits of eating bananas while her mother stares on in confusion and slight anticipation.

 

Minhyuk seriously needs to reel him in again.

 

“Hyung,” he turns to Hyunwoo again. “Can you do the soundtrack producer by yourself? I have somewhere I want to take Changkyun.”

 

Hyunwoo blinks in confusion, but nods obediently. “Sure. Want me to drop you off at the station first?”

 

“That would be great, thanks.”

 

The producer was someone distant, a complete outsider that only met Kihyun once, Hoseok thrice, and all times well over a year ago. Hyunwoo will be more than capable of dealing with her by himself.

 

But Minhyuk has someone else he wants to talk to – and he might need Changkyun’s insights more than Hyunwoo’s detached observance.

 

 

 

¤¤¤

 

 

 

Somehow, Kwon Younghwa is not answering her door.

 

“I can’t believe this,” Changkyun groans and drags a hand across his face. “She’s an old woman. What is she ever doing outside her house?”

 

“What, just because she is retired she is not allowed to have a life?” Minhyuk snorts. “I don’t know what old ladies do for fun, probably meeting friends or even just shopping for groceries. We only came here on a whim, after all, we can’t expect her to be hanging around just for our convenience.”

 

Changkyun pouts. “Why not?”

 

He gets cuffed on the back of his head for that.

 

“Well, I suppose we’ll just have to go back to the station to rendezvous,” Minhyuk sighs as Changkyun grumbles, starting to go back to their car. “I hope Hyunwoo-hyung had more luck, but I don’t think he’ll bring anything productive either. I feel like we’ve skirted something big, and then bypassed. Like there is something we should have discovered by now, we just.. Barely missed it.”

 

“I know what you mean,” Changkyun nods. “And I’m still trying to make sense of the scoresheets, why they’re missing – I went back, and there are definite indications that Kihyun composed on those days. ‘Worked at the piano’ is a reoccurring note, and it’s just… And the missing notes for the 17th of May 2011, if we could figure out what happened that day that scares Kihyun so badly – I can’t help but think it’s relevant. I don’t believe in coincidences.”

 

It has been bothering him.

 

He could accept one missing scoresheet. Maybe even one day of missed notes, if something had happened – but Hoseok didn’t know anything about this when he asked. Said Kihyun was meticulous in everything he did, nothing should be out of place, or Hoseok himself would have noticed as well.

 

It doesn’t add up.

 

There is a secret hidden in Kihyun’s pseudo-diary, and whatever it is, Changkyun thinks it must be relevant to the case.

 

Kihyun’s memory is the only thing that’s making this difficult for them.

 

The case wouldn’t be a case if it wasn’t for Kihyun’s lack of long-term memory – and someone’s knowledge about how to use this to their advantage. Anything that stands out from his past related to remembrance could be of importance.

 

Changkyun has toyed with the thought that, maybe there was an accident at some point – stray candle, misplacement, anything. But the scores missing are too random, the rest were organized so perfectly neatly – surely something so extraordinary would warrant a mention in his notes, or in Hoseok’s memory, which actually works.

 

So yes, he knows exactly what Minhyuk is feeling. They are missing something, right there, just out of reach – so close, but so far away at the same time.

 

The ironic thing is, some things are only available from Kihyun’s memories – broken memories, lost forever to the fateful hour in which he did not write about it.

 

For all they know, Kihyun could have cured cancer but forgotten to write about it and then lost the solution forever – stretching the analogy too far, but it is equally frustrating to Changkyun.

 

“I really hope we can solve this case while it’s still fresh,” Minhyuk proceeds, running a hand through his hair. “The longer it takes, the more difficult it becomes. And we still have a limited time before the authorities press charges against Hoseok anyway.”

 

“That’s true,” Changkyun nods solemnly. “How long did they give us anyway? It’s gotta be at least – hyung?”

 

Changkyun suddenly realizes he’s walking alone, and turns around to look for Minhyuk.

 

But Minhyuk has stopped, and is looking over the bushes and into Kihyun’s garden with a small frown.

 

“Minhyuk-hyung?”

 

What did he see? A new clue, previously overlooked, some tiny, seemingly insignificant detail that might suddenly become relevant, a speck of blood on the grass?

 

But when Changkyun walks over, all he sees is Kihyun, standing on the porch with a porcelain mug clutched in his hands. He’s staring up into the sky, at the gathering clouds and the wind rustling through the trees. Looks like he is thinking, but not about the weather.

 

When Changkyun turns back to Minhyuk, he sees a similarly thoughtful expression, but also a tinge of sadness. Maybe pity?

 

And Changkyun gets that.

 

Kihyun looks lost, and he must feel awful, walking around his house all alone and waiting for Hoseok to come back and follow all their regular routines – and then looking through his notepad only to find out he is not coming home after all. To find out that he is alone, without knowing why, without knowing what’s going to happen.

 

Changkyun can’t even begin to imagine what that must be like.

 

Ever since the panic attack, he hasn’t been able to see Kihyun as the same steadfast, composed person that he first perceived only last week. He sees a vulnerable man now, someone suffering quietly without knowing how and where to reach out. He sees someone that needs a grounding touch, someone that is only barely kept together and the seams without realizing the fragility of his own stitches.

 

Someone so near a precipice they don’t even know they are facing.

 

Yes, he can understand Minhyuk’s pity.

 

Minhyuk always cares too much, anyway. He cares about victims, in a way that would almost make him more suited to a caretaking job than a police officer, chasing down the scum of the earth. He tries to be tough, tries to convince both his colleagues and himself that he is the toughest cookie, but he isn’t. He is able to stare evil in the eye and punch it without blinking, but when faced with suffering, he cannot play indifferent to save his life. Changkyun remembers the protective way Minhyuk’s arms had curled around Kihyun’s shoulders as he struggled to regain control of his breathing, the way he had guided him with gentle, but firm touches afterwards.

 

Minhyuk cares – almost too much.

 

“Minhyuk-hyung – “

 

But his voice must have broken some sort of spell, and the minute he speaks, Minhyuk takes off into motion, walking back around and towards Kihyun’s house.

 

“Hyung – “

 

Minhyuk is already approaching Kihyun, his friendliest smile in place as he strolls up to the confused man.

 

And Changkyun has no choice but to follow.

 

Minhyuk seems to have forgotten all about him though, walking with a purpose and a certain haste in his steps as he makes a valiant effort to look casual.

 

“Good afternoon,” he says cheerfully as Kihyun raises an eyebrow.

 

“Uhm, good afternoon?” He clutches the mug tighter. “Can I help you?”

 

“We’re from the police,” Minhyuk says, still smiling brightly.

 

This seems to ring a bell for Kihyun.

 

“Police?” He repeats slowly and licks his lips. “Then this is about… Hoseok?”

 

“So you know about Hoseok-sshi, good,” Minhyuk nods in satisfaction. “It’s sort of about him. I am Minhyuk, this is Changkyun, by the way. We’ve met quite a few times lately.”

 

“Okay.” Kihyun puts his mug down on the ground and pulls out his notepad from a pocket. “Minhyuk-sshi and… Was it Changgoon?”

 

“Changkyun,” Changkyun corrects, stepping up next to Minhyuk. “Lim Changkyun, and Lee Minhyuk.”

 

They have seen it so many times by now, how Kihyun writes their names in neat circles, straight lines, organized figures. Changkyun could even pinpoint exactly how long it takes Kihyun to write the characters, but instead, he waits patiently until Kihyun looks up at them again questioningly.

 

“Do you… Need my help for something?”

 

“We just wanted to check up on you, see that you are coping alright,” Minhyuk brushes him off, walking up to Kihyun and putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “We know this is taking a long time, I do apologize – but could we come in for a bit? Or are you busy?”

 

Kihyun looks at Minhyuk, at Changkyun, then back at Minhyuk. He shakes his head.

 

“I’m not busy.”

 

It’s only half an invitation, but Minhyuk latches onto it anyway, grinning broadly and dragging Kihyun back inside with him – Changkyun follows three steps behind, taking care to put his and Minhyuk’s shoes on the shelves in an orderly manner as Minhyuk kicks his off carelessly.

 

When he follows the two of them into the living room, he sees that Minhyuk has already seated Kihyun on his piano chair.

 

“Did you eat yet, Kihyun?” Minhyuk asks brightly, but Changkyun can hear the concern plainly.

 

He also notices the way Minhyuk drops the honorifics like a bomb waiting to detonate. He wonders if Kihyun will notice – if he will react to it.

 

Kihyun doesn’t know them, but he doesn’t know anyone he’s met over the past few years – it’s only natural that some relationships will remain ambiguous to him.

 

And, fair enough, Kihyun only frowns. “I don’t know.”

 

He glances over at the clock on the kitchen counter, and then a black board next to the fridge. It has two even, vertical lines drawn in thick chalk, simple but easy.

 

“I didn’t.”

 

“That’s no good, Kihyunnie!” Minhyuk tuts and tosses his jacket over the back of a chair. “I’ll help you make something, then. Let’s have dinner in here.”

 

“Uhm…” Kihyun starts, standing up again and taking half a step after Minhyuk. “R-really, you don’t have to… I’m fine by myself – “

 

“I’m sure you are,” Minhyuk agrees with a shrug. “But it doesn’t hurt to enjoy some companionship once in a while, right? You need dinner anyway, you might as well have it with us. And I’m actually a decent cook, thank you for asking.”

 

“Hyung is not a good cook,” Changkyun stage-whispers to Kihyun, who seems surprised by his contribution – and Minhyuk’s ruckus in its entirety. “He’s just trying to be nice.”

 

“Oh.” Kihyun ponders this for a second, hesitant, and almost out of place in his own home. Changkyun can’t quite decide if he likes or disapproves of the turn of events, but at least he goes along with. “Well, that’s awfully nice of you, but… I guess I can help, at least? I know I won’t be any good at keeping track of things, but if you tell me what to do it should be fine…”

 

“That sounds great,” Minhyuk grins, skipping a little from cupboard to cupboard as he brushes off Kihyun’s self-deprecation with a small handwave. “We’ll prepare a meal together. Team work! Let’s utilize our strengths and weaknesses. That’s why Changkyun should sit this one out.”

 

“I’d call you out for being rude, but you’re right,” Changkyun shrugs. “I know more about the biology behind the cow you’re about to dissect than the two of you together, though. That should count for something.”

 

“Yes, please tell us all about it during the meal,” Minhyuk snorts drily before returning to his plunder.

 

All while Kihyun just stands there, looking in bewilderment between the two strange men inviting themselves into his house and insisting on cooking for him.

 

Changkyun can understand his confusion.

 

He’s a little bit confused himself, but he has learned to roll with Minhyuk’s punches – or pats, in this case.

 

Maybe Minhyuk is going to ask him something else – surely they could dig a bit further into his relationship with Lee Hyunshik and Yoo Seungwoo, if nothing else. Maybe Minhyuk wants to assure himself that there isn’t anyone from Kihyun’s childhood or college days that aren’t listed on the wall, someone they should know about –

 

Changkyun doesn’t know exactly what Minhyuk is up to, but surely, it must be something.

 

Using terms of friendliness and the warming gathering around a pot of food should get Kihyun to open up, at least, and it will probably soothe Minhyuk’s worries.

 

Changkyun will go along with it until he figures Minhyuk out – although that is a task for a lifetime, he has found. Well. One day at a time.

 

Meanwhile, Minhyuk digs out a cooking book from the shelf and asks Kihyun to join him – what about this dish, or that one? Did he try that? Is it good?

 

All while speaking to him like an old friend, amicably, jokingly, but with full respect for his opinions and inputs.

 

“I think this stew would be good – doesn’t take too long to make, right?”

 

“Not the base, no, but the beef should have been prepared hours ago,” Kihyun points out, tapping his finger at a specific part of the ingredients list. “See this? It means you need to salt and marinate the meat hours in advance. We haven’t done that.”

 

“Ah, I get it now!” Minhyuk sighs and slaps his forehead in mock exasperation. “Well, we’ll have to find something else then.”

 

Changkyun settles himself on a kitchen chair, watching, as the two bicker and discuss dinner possibilities.

 

It’s strangely fascinating – he knows Minhyuk well enough to see that while he is putting on a bit of an act for Kihyun, his intentions are genuine, and his impressed exclamations and loud laughs are nothing he would fake.

 

His show of familiarity is a bit exaggerated, indicating a closeness that has only been budding so far, but Kihyun seems to believe it as they keep interacting. Changkyun sees how he slowly allows himself to believe that even though he doesn’t remember this person, they are friends – allows himself to slip beyond his initial suspicion and hesitancy to mimic Minhyuk’s relaxed and informal speech pattern, allows himself to act without reservations.

 

After coaxing their ages out of Minhyuk, he also started to ask more questions himself – where they were born, what their favourite kind of music is, how Changkyun became so renowned despite his youth.

 

And suddenly, Changkyun sees the person Hoseok described during their initial interview – someone who’s kind, but with a sharp edge that attacks in careless moment, a great match for Minhyuk’s loud pliancy. Someone that smiles brightly when he tells Minhyuk to sit the fuck down and get away from his cutting board. Someone that sees Changkyun’s puzzled look and pours a cup of tea for him while the stew boils.

 

“You looked like you had something on your mind,” he explains and puts the tea cup on a coaster. “The stew is still a few minutes away, you might enjoy this while you wait.”

 

“Thanks,” Changkyun smiles at him and accepts the mug gratefully. “Green?”

 

“Jukro,” Kihyun nods. “From Hadong. First flush of the year, so I think I must have gotten it quite recently. It was probably Hoseok, he knows how much I appreciate a good cup.”

 

Changkyun tries to not let his expression fall at the mention of Hoseok.

 

He isn’t Minhyuk – he can’t put up this cheerful act and pretend that everything is okay. Sure, he loves his mindgames, but this – this is something else.

 

Luckily, he is saved by Minhyuk before he has to say anything else about Hoseok or tea or the present situation of tea growing in Korea.

 

“Hey, Kihyun – would you mind if I put on some music? You have quite a collection here,” Minhyuk calls from the shelf with the CD player.

 

Kihyun looks over at him and shrugs. “Go ahead, pick whatever you like.”

 

“How about this one?”

 

He holds up a CD, and from the distance, it takes a second for Changkyun to recognize the cover. An old, wizened tree, swaying slightly in the wind on a backdrop of grey.

 

Kihyun recognizes the CD as well, and his face falls a little at the initial sight of it. But then he shakes his head before smiling again. “Sure. Whatever you like.”

 

And if Kihyun picks up on Minhyuk’s recognition, the way he singled it out and so obviously wanted to play it, he doesn’t comment on the strange choice.

 

Soon enough, a soft melody starts playing from the speakers, guitar and the eventual piano key backed up by something else – a crystal-clear voice. It’s not the same song they played before, but it’s still Hoseok and Kihyun – just not Hosek’s voice anymore.

 

“Kihyun, is that really you?” Minhyuk grins and bounds over to them again. “Is that you singing?”

 

“Yeah,” Kihyun admits, and smiles sheepishly. “I used to sing in high school and at college, but my technique isn’t as good as my piano. I only sing when Hoseok asks me to, now.”

 

“Well, thank heavens,” Minhyuk tuts and pats Kihyun’s head. “There should only be so much talent in one body. Although I’m still very jealous, this sounds amazing to my untrained ears.”

 

“Thank you,” Kihyun blushes a little and ducks his head, avoiding eye contact with either of them. “It’s not good, but… It’s just for fun anyway.”

 

But Changkyun has to agree with Minhyuk instead, it does sound good – he takes a sip from his tea as he listens, and it’s very satisfying for amateur work. Kihyun’s voice is so pleasantly soft, and it goes great with the acoustic guitar.

 

He wonders if this is what musicality is like.

 

If this is what made Hoseok fall in love with him.

 

In his modesty, Kihyun retreats to check the stew, prepare rice for boiling, and take out cutlery. He politely asks Changkyun to move to the couch so he can prepare the dinner table, and Changkyun does, easily. He’s almost finished his tea cup by now, and Kihyun was right, it is very good. Changkyun doesn’t know much about tea himself, but maybe he’ll have to look this up.

 

Minhyuk is stirring the pot in Kihyun’s place, making sure nothing burns in the final stages of the process, watching fondly as Kihyun starts humming along to the music from the speakers.

 

It’s not quite domestic, but it is definitely friendly – more than a professional environment, quite different from a sombre connection made from a murder case.

 

Changkyun almost lets himself get lulled into the comfortable illusion of peacefulness as well, until he sees Kihyun set the table – for four people.

 

“Hyung,” he calls out, making both Minhyuk and Kihyun turn their heads to him in confusion. “Why are you setting the table like that? We’re only three people.”

 

“Ah.” Kihyun smiles and looks back at the clock on the kitchen counter. “I just checked Hoseok’s schedule, he should be home soon. And he’s usually starving when he comes home.”

 

Minhyuk pauses in his movements, and Changkyun tries to keep himself from biting his lip.

 

So they’ve reached that point again.

 

He looks at Minhyuk, unsure of what to do in this situation.

 

And Minhyuk lowers the heat beneath the pot, stepping up next to Kihyun and putting a hand on his shoulder again sympathetically.

 

“Kihyun-ah,” he starts gently, making Kihyun look at him in confusion. “Hoseok isn’t coming home today.”

 

“He isn’t?” Kihyun frowns and looks at the fridge. It has three notes, not in Kihyun’s handwriting and a completely different colour, but they are all dated more than two weeks ago. “Why not? What’s he doing?”

 

“Do you remember who we are?” Minhyuk asks instead, not unkindly, and squeezes Kihyun’s shoulder a little.

 

Kihyun just frowns. “Minhyuk… And Changkyun.”

 

“But do you remember what we do? Why you know us?”

 

“You are – “ Kihyun starts, but then cuts himself off as he tries to recall their connection.

 

He frowns.

 

He doesn’t remember, and the embarrassment and frustration is plainly obvious in his eyes.

 

“I’m – I’m sorry, give me a second,” he says, flustered, and pulls out his notebook, shuffles through until he finds something useful. “Lim Changkyun and Lee Minhyuk, police. Oh.”

 

He pauses for a second, before he’s suddenly rambling, looking away from them and clenching his fists. “I’m sorry, I just assumed – no, I guess I knew, but I forgot, and then I thought – I’m so sorry, officers, I just – I shouldn’t – “

 

“Hey, calm down, it’s fine,” Minhyuk says gently, reassuringly, squeezes his shoulder again. “We know. You’re good. No worries.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Kihyun repeats, regardless of Minhyuk’s comforts. “I don’t – this is why I don’t see people without Hoseok.”

 

“We know it’s hard without him,” Minhyuk agrees patiently, and Changkyun nods eagerly.

 

He feels bad instigating this, but – it must be addressed, right? They couldn’t lie to him either, right?

 

He wishes he had kept his mouth shut and let Minhyuk deal with it from the start.

 

“Then where is he?” Kihyun demands quietly, looking at the floor.

 

“What?”

 

“I asked why he wasn’t coming home, and… You asked if I knew who you were, and then… Has something happened? You are here because of him?”

 

“In a way,” Minhyuk nods, and points at Kihyun’s notebook. “Take another look here.”

 

And Kihyun does.

 

He goes through the pages, scanning for Hoseok’s name, any references to the police, anything that might be related –

 

_Hoseok killed someone. He’s gone._

 

And then Changkyun sees it hitting like a wave – something inside Kihyun snaps, and the fog he has started to hate falls over his eyes, his shoulders slump under Minhyuk’s hold, and his lips part, almost imperceptibly.

 

“He’s gone,” he repeats, so quietly that Changkyun almost doesn’t hear.

 

“He’s gone,” Minhyuk repeats softly, and Changkyun still can’t do anything but clutch his tea mug closer. “We’re trying to get him back. We’re trying to help.”

 

Kihyun purses his lips instead, looking so small, so dejected and so distant – almost like the first few times Changkyun met him, and such a drastic change from the animated, lively young man he had recently witnessed.

 

“Did he really kill someone?”

 

“We don’t think he did. But so far, the evidence points towards him.”

 

Changkyun notices how Minhyuk doesn’t say it’s also slightly pointing towards Kihyun – how the case could easily be made that the two of them killed Hong and then tried to muddle the investigation enough to set them both free.

 

It’s too complicated, and won’t help anyway.

 

“Okay,” Kihyun mumbles, taking out his notepad and searching for a pen. Minhyuk lets him go, sees Kihyun head to the counter and pick up a pencil, sees his hand hovering over the paper –

 

He doesn’t see what Kihyun writes down.

 

“But Kihyun, please – “ Minhyuk starts, walking back to the stove to finish the stew. “We’re doing our best, it’s going to be fine. For now, let’s just enjoy the food, yeah? The food we made together. No use worrying about things we can’t do anything about right now. Hoseok would want you to take care of yourself as well, right?”

 

Kihyun makes an agreeing humming sound before turning back to the table, taking away one set of bowls and cutlery to leave only three on the table.

 

It’s like it physically hurts, Changkyun thinks. Kihyun’s entire demeanour changed in a second, from lively to rejected, something so sad and little he hardly seems like the same person.

 

He really is an interesting case – but Changkyun wishes he didn’t have to suffer in order to be so fascinating.

 

Minhyuk somehow manages to finish the meal with some assistance from Kihyun, and eventually, they get him to relax a little bit more again, earn a little smile and the occasional chuckle, but it’s harder than before. Which is odd, from a purely objective point of view, because when they arrived, Kihyun knew – must have gone back and read it himself shortly before they showed up – but he opened up so much easier then.

 

Maybe it was too much, the contrast between the happy camaraderie and the devastating realization that Hoseok, his leading light – is gone. Well, not forever, hopefully, if Minhyuk and Changkyun find success.

 

But if an hour is Kihyun’s eternity…

 

They finish dinner in a continuously improving mood, and help him clean up afterwards as well, at which point Minhyuk is shrewd enough to start a soap bubble war to draw Kihyun out of his shell again. It works surprisingly well, Changkyun observes. Well enough that by the time Minhyuk dries his hands and goes to pick up his jacket from its position on an idle chair, Kihyun is actually smiling and looking them in the eye without prompting.

 

He looks a lot stronger like that, Changkyun thinks.

 

“So we’re going back to the police station now,” Minhyuk starts, looking at Kihyun carefully, probably to gauge his reaction. “If you want to… If there is anything you want to say to Hoseok, we can give him the message.”

 

Kihyun’s eyes widen slightly – not comically so, hardly noticeable, but it’s there. “You would do that?”

 

So this time he still remembers. Remembers where Hoseok is, what’s going on – a good thing too, because none of them would want to repeat the incident from before.

 

“Of course,” Minhyuk smiles, heartfully. “I know it must be hard – and I’m sure he misses you too. He seems like a big softie.”

 

“He is,” Kihyun confirms, almost absentmindedly. “He’s a great sap. How long did you say it was again?”

 

“Almost two weeks now.”

 

Kihyun nods slowly. “Two weeks. That’s… I think that’s the longest we’ve been apart since the accident.”

 

Minhyuk’s smiles widens, but it’s still sad, still sympathetic. Changkyun thinks Minhyuk understands, then - he knows Kihyun could not possibly _know,_ not without consulting all of his notes and photos – but surely, he feels. He must feel the longing embedded in his bones, the coldness on his skins and the heaviness of the air. Sometimes, people just know things instinctively, without any conscious explanation, and this must be it for Kihyun.

 

“If we could take you to see him, we would,” Minhyuk says, apologetic but sincere.

 

At least Changkyun thinks he is sincere – he certainly looks it. Looks like he cares, looks like he regrets the situation, looks like he would like nothing more than to hug Kihyun for the rest of the day if it would help. And Minhyuk is a kind soul like that, he cares for the poor, he cares for the innocent – and Kihyun’s case has already affected him so much, he has actually grown _fond_ of Kihyun. It’s so evident in the little touches, the soft gaze and muted protectiveness that slips through in Minhyuk’s dedication to the case.

 

What started off as an aggressive and frustrated investigation has turned into something much more tender – something more _human._

It is fascinating to Changkyun, to see these almost unreasonable declarations of trust, the social contracts that has developed on nothing besides personal chemistry – of belief and trust.

 

Compassion.

 

“I know,” Kihyun agrees softly, even though, he couldn’t possibly _know –_ he won’t remember them for more than a few minutes after they walk out the door, and isn’t that just sad, that the past couple of hours – they can’t mean anything to him beyond a couple of scribbles on a note? “But just a message… It will mean the world to us. I am very grateful for your help, Minhyuk.”

 

“I wish we could do more.” Minhyuk says instead. “But you know… Law enforcement. Kind of puts some limitations on you.”

 

“No, it’s fine, I get that,” Kihyun smiles at him and draws out his notepad again. Finds a pen, flicks to a new page – then he pauses, looking up at Changkyun and Minhyuk almost questioningly. “Will you read it?”

 

“Not if you don’t want us to.” Minhyuk shakes his head.

 

Then Kihyun nods, and starts writing.

 

Both Minhyuk and Changkyun turn away discreetly, and when Kihyun gets up and gives Minhyuk the folded note, he shoves it in his coat unceremoniously.

 

“I’ll make sure to give it to him,” he assures Kihyun with a smile. “Thank you for dinner, Kihyun.”

 

“My pleasure,” Kihyun shrugs. “I guess I don’t see a lot of people these days? Thank you for visiting.”

 

“No problem at all!”

 

Kihyun looks over at Changkyun, smiling softly – Changkyun hasn’t been the most talkative during the afternoon, that has been Minhyuk. Changkyun doesn’t always know what to say, what’s appropriate, how to meddle in the interaction of two people that obviously got along so well.

 

But Kihyun’s eyes are filled with gratitude nonetheless, and Changkyun feels his efforts being acknowledged nonetheless.

 

“Feel free to drop by another time for more tea,” he says gently, and takes Changkyun’s hand in his. “You’re quiet, but… I’m sure there are lots of interesting things going on in that head of yours. Please let me know sometime, even if this guy over there takes up a lot of space.”

 

That last remark was directed at Minhyuk, who spews indignantly at the little gesture Kihyun sends his way.

 

Changkyun can’t do anything but nod. “Sure. You… You take care, hyung.”

 

Kihyun promises to look after himself, but they all know it’s an empty vow – he won’t, he won’t remember.

 

But he’ll keep going for a few more days anyway – after that, it’s up to Minhyuk and Changkyun to fix this mess.

 

Before Kihyun’s life is turned upside down forever, again.

 

It’s such a heavy thought, one that does not sit well with Changkyun, and when they walk out to the main street again, he starts to fill the silence with anything else that has been on his mind.

 

“I have a new theory about the functions of his memory now. He seems to remember better when he is around people, like a focal point that lets him stay focused on his context in a completely different way – “

 

“Changkyun.” Minhyuk’s voice is suspiciously quiet, sombre, even, and when Changkyun turns to him, his face is closed off.

 

“What?” He can’t help but raise his eyebrows.

 

“Don’t tell anyone we were here,” Minhyuk says, emphasizing each syllable slowly. “We’re not supposed to do this kind of fraternizing. It creates biases and inhibits the investigation. We’ll be taken off the case and I might receive a suspension if this comes out, especially in combination with the… Incident last time we were here.”

 

“I won’t tell anyone,” Changkyun promises. “But if it’s that bad, why did you…?”

 

Minhyuk waves a hand at him before he has even finished the question.

 

“You know why,” he sighs. “He looked so lonely, Changkyun, and he hasn’t lived alone since the accident… He’s going to waste away by himself, and I can’t help but feel for him. I know he’s not going to remember this, but if what you say is right… If the emotions linger even after the memory has passed – isn’t this the least we could do for him?”

 

Changkyun thinks about that.

 

“You’re not responsible for him, hyung,” he says, slowly. “But if it’s… I mean, it’s a good deed. I don’t regret coming here.”

 

“Good – “

 

“But you don’t have bear the burden of his life on your shoulders,” Changkyun is quick to add when Minhyuk starts to get that relieved, borderline smug grin on his face again. “Your job is to find the criminal, not save Kihyun’s life.”

 

“Isn’t that the same?” Minhyuk stares at him, hard.

 

“In this case, maybe. But keep in mind how you’re doing it. I would hate to see you push yourself too far.”

 

Minhyuk nudges his shoulder lightly. “Didn’t know you cared, Changkyun.”

 

“Do I? Does this constitute as caring?”

 

It does.

 

He knows it does.

 

He knows Minhyuk and him have a weird relationship, not quite close, not quite professional, but he isn’t about to analyse the deeper points of their vitriolic partnership.

 

He just knows he doesn’t want Minhyuk to destroy himself in his attempt to become Kihyun and Hoseok’s hero.

 

“Just be careful, hyung. That’s all I’m asking.”

 

“I’m always careful, Changkyun.”

 

That’s a lie.

 

But Changkyun will accept it for now.


End file.
